No Place Like Home
by Risty
Summary: What happened to Rahne after Mainstream? Mobs, flames, torches - and that's only the start. Witch hunts come in many forms. (Featuring numerous canon characters.)
1. Return

**_Disclaimer:_**_ I don't own the characters. I don't own the settings. I don't really even own much of the plot, considering the number of elements I've borrowed from elsewhere. I did write the words, but I'd imagine my legal rights to them are pretty shaky._

_Here we go – this is my attempt at telling the story of what happened to Rahne after Mainstream, when her parents had her taken away from the Institute. If you're familiar with the Marvel Comics Universe, its probably best to note now that while I've used various elements from Rahne's comic backstory, I've also changed quite a few things to work with both what we saw of Rahne in the show (and that was far too little of course) and what I wanted to do with this story._

_There are also appearances from a number of other canon characters in this, which I won't give away just yet. But they'll be there, and the same applies to them – I've taken quite a few liberties with backstories to suit my own twisted mind and purposes…_

* * *

As the train pulled into the tiny station there was only one pair of eyes on board not avidly staring out the window at the spectacular Highland scenery. Rahne sighed. Unlike most of the passengers, who were tourists taking in the 'Scottish Experience' she had grown up in this area, and she was used to the moors and mountains. But it wasn't a sense of familiarity with the area that dulled her usual enthusiasm for the view, but rather one of resent. Why did she have to be coming home now? 

Shouldering her bag, she stepped out of the compartment. The corridor outside was empty – for all the tourists' wonder at the scenery, they seemed to prefer viewing it from the comfort of a heated carriage. No one ever got off at Garve. Which was fair enough, really, in Rahne's opinion. It wasn't the sort of place you wanted to stay in for more time than was absolutely necessary.

The station's platform was as bare of people as the corridor had been; there were only two figures braving the biting wind. On seeing Rahne step down from the carriage they hurried over.

"Darling! We've missed you so much!" said the smaller one, pulling her into a tight hug - a short woman with fiery red hair. Her mother.

"It's good ta see ye, lass," commented her father, and with far more reserve, slipped one arm around her shoulders. Rahne returned the hugs – despite the circumstances, it was good to see her parents again.

She could smell a mixture of feelings coming off them – being in human form dulled most of her wolf senses, but for some reason not the ability to read people's emotions in their scents. There was love, concern, and relief, but also a large amount of fear.

"You're still worried about me, aren't you?"

They both looked up abruptly. "What? What would make ye say that, lass?" her father began, trying to sound casual, although his scent said otherwise. She raised an eyebrow and tapped her nose. Amazing how much parents could forget in six months.

"You brought me back here, aren't you satisfied now?" She made no attempt to keep the bitterness from her voice.

He opened his mouth again, but her mother cut in: "Of course we are, Rahne. We just want you with us. But we're worried too; this, this bigotry against… people like you, it's spreading…."

The word is mutants, mother. The secret police aren't going to jump out if you say it. "And so you took me away from the place that was offering me protection?"

"Protection?" queried her father. "Lass, the place was blown up!"

"Yes, well…," there was a good retort to that, Rahne was sure, she just couldn't think of it. "It's not like it was an everyday occurrence!"

"That's enough. We'll discuss it later, after we get ye home."

.....

It was an hour long drive back to the Sinclair's home in Ullapool. The car was silent. Rahne wasn't feeling in the mood for talking. At one point she noticed her mother preparing to say something, and so claiming jet lag, she closed her eyes and pretended to go to sleep. And in fact, exhausted from the journey and lulled by the motion of the car, Rahne actually did fall asleep.

"Welcome back," her father said softly, startling her out of her dream of Frisbees and chew toys. The town hadn't changed since she'd left – nothing in the Highlands ever did. The same few streets clustered around the twin centres of the church and the pub. The same stillness and the same appearance of picturesque quaintness, an image which was oh-so-carefully cultivated by the residents.

The house too, was just as she remembered it. Two stories of granite blocks, grey and dour, but on sunny days the light would catch the stone and make it sparkle. Of course, sunny days don't come to the north of Scotland often.

"I think ye've grown a wee bit since we saw ye last," her father commented as she walked through the door. "Ye tower over yer poor mother now…"

"She'll be catching you one of these days, Ian." Rahne looked at her mother. It was true that she could now look down on her – Mrs Sinclair barely topped 5ft - but her father was at least 6'2''. The town had named them 'the long and the short of it'. She burst out laughing at the idea, and her parents joined in. For a few moments they were a normal family again, and everything was like it used to be.

"It's good to have you home, darling," said her mother, as they subsided.

Rahne's smile froze on her face. In the excitement of being back at her home she'd forgotten the reason why she was here. As fun as it was to laugh with her parents, she wasn't sure that she belonged in Ullapool anymore.

"I'll just take my stuff up to my room," she said quietly.

That was almost exactly as she had left it as well: the bed with the patchwork quilt, the slightly ragged old armchair and the Rangers poster on the wall were all still there. Of course, it wasn't quite as she'd left it – for one thing it was clean. But it did feel comforting.

On an impulse she threw her suitcase down on her bed and shut the door. The room was comforting, but it wasn't home again yet. There was something more to be done. Standing in the middle of the room she concentrated, focussing her mind inward.

Her ears were the first to alter – she felt them stretch up, and frowned as she adjusted to the heightened hearing. The hair started to grow on her body and she felt her bones altering their shape, bringing her to a crouched posture. With that came the change in her features – enlargement of the nose, sharpening of the eyes and lengthening of the teeth. It was complete – she shook out her fur and looked around the room as a wolf.

Perception was different in her wolf state. The room lacked colour, but the lack of colour was only a minor drawback to sight – her lupine eyes could detect wavelengths into the ultraviolet and infrared of the electromagnetic spectrum. She could see the patterns of heat given off by her passage through the room. But sight was unimportant in this state compared to sound and smell. The muffled noises of her parents' activities downstairs resonated clearly in the wolf's ears: her mother was in the kitchen taking something out of the cupboard; her father had just turned the radio on to the sports channel.

Smell took precedence however – she knew she wouldn't feel right until the room smelled like it should.

Wolfsbane sniffed the air. Her mother had been in there this morning – her scent, with its distinctive tinge of camomile soap was still strong. Strong for the wolf in any case; it would have been imperceptible to any human. The smell of polish and air freshener permeated the whole room. She'd been cleaning. Well, there was only one thing to do about that.

The wolf was methodical. Working from the door, she paced around the walls, rubbing her back against them. She rolled around on the floor, then jumped up on the desk and padded across it. The bed was next – that required an especially large amount of work to remove the smell of washing powder from the sheets. Which left the armchair. Only a small leap to reach the seat, and then a minimum of turning to get comfortable. She settled down, content that the space was once again her own.

There were footsteps, then a knock at the door. It opened to reveal her mother, although the wolf had known that already from the rhythm of the footfalls.

"I hope you've made yourself com… Oh Rahne," she sighed as she saw the wolf curled up in the chair. "Already? I just made that bed this morning."

Wolfsbane gave her what could only be described as a wolfish grin. She yawned lazily, displaying her canines. Jumping off the seat onto the floor, she started to stretch her back, which continued to extend and elongate until she was back in her human form.

"You wanted me?" she asked.

"I don't know, home barely five minutes and already look at your room." Rahne glanced around. There was fur all over the chair, paw prints on the table and the bedding was a complete mess.

"Well, I'm a teenager aren't I? Anyway, it smelt wrong."

"And how am I ever going to explain the fur all over the house to the neighbours when they come over?" There was no real feeling of annoyance in her, but some concern.

"Well, you don't have to tell them I'm back," Rahne suggested. "I'll just stay changed and you can tell everyone you've bought a new dog." In truth she rather liked the idea, but her mother pursed her lips.

Rahne followed her downstairs, where her father was waiting in the lounge.

"Now Lass, we support yer being a mutant," he began. Well, it's not as if I got much choice in the matter, she mused. "But with the climate the way it is at the moment, ye've got ta be careful with yer powers. Ye don't want ta lose control."

"I thought that's why I was at the Institute – to gain control."

"What it did was almost get ye killed, Lass."

"That's unfair," Rahne protested angrily. "I learnt a lot! Plus we also got to help people with our powers – you told me once that they were there for a reason, so that I could make a difference." She'd been young and scared of her newfound abilities that day, and her parents had tried to comfort her when she'd tearfully asked them why this had happened to her. Having some kind of purpose had helped her deal with her fear and anger at being different.

He frowned. Her mother spoke instead. "That's as may be, darling. But you're only barely fifteen, there's plenty of time for that later. We just want what's best for you, and for now, that's being at home with us."

Their scents were unwavering – definite, determined. They weren't going to budge on this. Rahne sighed in resignation. She might as well make the best of it, it was obvious arguing would serve no purpose.

"Fine."


	2. Contact

**_NB:_**_ Italics in the chapter are used to indicate writing (part of a letter)… lllll means a flashback._

* * *

A week later, a letter turned up in the Sinclair's mail-box, a trifle battered looking after its transatlantic journey, but still bearing a postmark that named it as coming from Bayville, and still addressed to Rahne. There was no information about the sender on the plain white envelope, but the cheerful, carefully rounded characters announced its writer's identity clearly to Rahne even before she'd opened up the letter and seen the name signed at the bottom. Only Kitty Pryde could manage to make handwriting perky.

Not bothering to contain her excitement at the thought of news from her friends at the Institute, Rahne practically ran into the house, dumping the rest of the mail on the kitchen table before continuing to her room, where hopefully she'd be safe from any interruptions. Settling down into her armchair, she slit the edge of the envelope with a fingernail, revealing a couple of newspaper clippings and a single piece of note paper which bore more of Kitty's distinctive script.

_Dear Rahne, _

_Hope you got back to Scotland alright. Jubilee's parents came to take her home yesterday. I think they were as worried as yours about what might happen to you here._

Well, that was interesting, at least, thought Rahne. Precious Jubilation Lee's parents came to take her home too? Rahne had shared a room with the girl for the past six months, but she didn't feel a lot of sympathy for her. The two girls had never managed to get on well – not for any particular reason, she had to admit, reluctantly. Just a clash of personality and upbringing, or something. Jubilee's parents were some of the richest people in Los Angeles from what Rahne could gather, and the Asian-american was a city girl through and through – malls and clothes and pop music and shopping were second nature to her, whereas Rahne was still a village girl at heart. She hated the city, with its buildings and its concrete and its lack of open spaces to run on, and if she couldn't understand Jubilee's fascination with the fast-paced life of malls and bright lights, the Californian certainly didn't understand why Rahne needed the wilderness around her.

Beyond that, Jubilee's almost casual disregard for other people's feelings at times irritated Rahne almost beyond measure. It wasn't that the girl meant to say anything offensive, Rahne was almost certain of that, but her tendency to say whatever thought popped into her head without first thinking about how it might be taken was a constant rankle. More than once, Rahne had had to step in to console Jamie, the Institute's youngest inhabitant, after one of Jubilee's flippant comments about his age or his lack of control had sliced right through the boy's composure. That had made her angriest of all – it was one thing to be insulting to Tabby, or Ray, or one of the older kids, who'd just laugh it off, but Jamie was just trying to fit in, even if he was annoying sometimes, and he took the comments to heart more often than he should.

_We had to go back to school as well, which was totally freaky. Nobody would talk to us, except that stupid Duncan Matthews, who was trying to get Scott expelled by making him use his powers. He even got the Brotherhood to help him out. Lance is such a stubborn, stupid, annoying… I don't know, guy. I could seriously like hit him or something right now._

_I put in a couple of articles from the Bayville News – the latest on what they're all saying about us over here – still nothing good, unfortunately, but the Professor thinks it's just a matter of time. I really hope he's right._

_Anyway, the rebuilding of the Mansion's still going on – we're clearing out all the debris and the construction company's coming in tomorrow, so life goes on. It will be nice to go back to having proper rooms. _

She did wish that she could be there to help in reconstructing the mansion. Unbidden, her thoughts went back to the day it blew up - finding themselves locked in a building that was shooting lasers at them, all exits blocked off and a ticking clock, counting down the seconds before they'd be blasted into non-existence. The New Recruits had all been crowded into the control room trying vainly to shut the thing off when Scott had arrived. Rahne had never been so scared in her life as in the few seconds before the Mansion exploded, when they were desperately trying to make it to Cerebro's room. They'd made it, but no one had been unscathed by the blast. And then it had only gotten worse, with Mystique in the Professor's place and the arrival of the army. The New Recruits had done the only thing they could do – they had run. But the Professor was back now, and with him there it was hard to believe that anyone could harm them. Of course there was no convincing her parents of that.

_We all miss you lots._

_Kitty_

_P.S Did something happen to Roberto? He's been acting totally weird all week. I mean, it's been really sunny, but he just hasn't been getting happy the way he usually does._

The brief mention of Roberto worried Rahne, although she hoped she knew what that was about, at least. Apart from Kitty, who was older and usually busy with the Senior team, he and Sam were her only two good friends at the Institute. The others were all a part of her pack and she mostly got on well with them, but her boys, as she thought of them, had always been there for her.

_llllll_

Rahne ran out into the woods, unable to form a single coherent thought, and started to howl. The Professor had just summoned her into his study to tell her that her parents were pulling her out of the Institute.

"But, I want to stay here," she'd said desperately. "Can't you convince them to let me stay?"

"I'm sorry, Rahne," the telepath had told her gently. "They are your legal guardians and they're convinced that we can't keep you safe here anymore. I have tried to remonstrate, but the decision is theirs."

"But…," she'd started, but no rational reasons had come to mind. Instead she'd run.

"Hey wolfie. Are you chasing the bats again? What's wrong?" a familiar Brazilian accent broke into her misery. She padded over to him, and for a couple of moments, wondered vaguely why she only reached his waist before understanding dawned, slower than might have been the case had she been in her human form. The wolf transformed back quickly, feeling a need to explain to someone, anyone, who'd listen.

"My parents aren't letting me stay here anymore. They want me to fly back to Scotland tomorrow." She burst into tears. It was stupid to be crying, she knew that, but yet she couldn't help it.

"What? But the Professor – he won't let that happen; he'll talk them around, won't he?"

"He said that he couldn't and that it was their decision. But I don't want to go Berto."

"I know. But hey, at least it shows they care, huh, Wolfie." Roberto's parents had shipped him off to America rather than deal with having a mutant son. The Brazilian boy paused for a second, before continuing. "I'm going to miss you, though."

"No you won't."

"Sure I will. Who else is going to tease me when you're gone?" He smiled. "On the other hand, now I'll be able to get all the attention I deserve from the instructors for being an overacheiver!"

"I told you to keep off the icing, boyo," she grinned back through her tears.

'Berto laughed, but then turned serious. "No, really, I'm going to miss you."

"What, Roberto da Costa, god's gift to mutants, is going to miss a girl? I better not tell anyone, it'll spoil your reputation…," She gave him a playful push, but he caught her hand.

"I'm serious. You're… you're not like the other girls…."

"You had better mean that in a good way…," she warned, trying to keep her tone light. No need to break down any further around him than she already had. No need…

"Of course." He smiled again. Rahne could tell he wasn't lying – that showed up in smell before almost anything else, but there was something that was strange about his scent anyway, a tingling kind of note that she couldn't quite place. "But you won't be missing me anyway – you'll be back over in Scotland, just thinking about Sam."

"What?" she sputtered indignantly. "You know better than anyone that all that stuff was just us being silly!" Rahne and Sam had hit it off instantly when they got to the Institute, causing a fair amount of comment from the other people. Most of it harmless, but as usual, Jubilee had managed to turn it into something that while not intentionally meant to hurt, had cut to the bone.

In the midst of a game of Frisbee, Wolfsbane's sensitive ears had picked up trails of a conversation between the Californian and Amara.

"I don't really know what Sam sees in her," Jubilee had said. "I mean, I suppose she's kind of cute or whatever, and maybe she has the whole naïve little village girl charm, but… well… her powers!" The Californian's voice had dropped to a confidential whisper, but Wolfsbane could still make out the words clearly. "Maybe there's just something I'm not getting, since I'm a girl or whatever, but look at her, over there playing fetch – she's literally a dog, isn't she?"

It had taken Sam, Roberto and Ray all physically holding Rahne back to restrain her from trying to tear the other girl into pieces. But she and Sam really were no more than good friends. He'd told her once, early on, that she was like one of his little sisters, and she always thought of him as a litter mate, the brother she'd never had and always wanted. In any case she knew all about his supposedly secret crush on the Nova Roman Princess, and he knew… about Roberto.

"Yeah, but…," the olive-skinned boy said, uncertainly.

"I am going to miss Sammy, but I'll survive. But I'm really going to miss you, boyo."

"Really?"

"Course."

He put one arm around her shoulder. "I wish you didn't have to go…."

"Really? Because I was just all peachy keen about it," she said sarcastically. And at that the tears broke through again, shattering what little composure she had left. Trying not to let her breath come out in sobs, Rahne leaned into his shoulder as he stroked her hair.

"Wolfie, don't cry. It'll all turn out okay, you'll see."

"Are you sure?" she sniffed.

"When am I ever wrong?"

She rolled her eyes. That was 'Berto, all the way. "Well, there was that time when you said…."

"Doesn't count."

"You had better be sure."

She turned a tearstained face up to look at him for further confirmation, but it was too dark to make out much of his features in her human form and he didn't say anything further. Instead he bent his head down and put his lips to hers.

"I am going to miss you," he said after breaking the kiss. "But I'm definitely going to see you again, because I want to see you, and Sunspot always gets what he wants."

"You're such an arrogant bastard," Rahne replied before kissing him again. But just to shut him up.

_llllll_

She smiled again at the memory. Sam had said the next day at the airport when they went to see her off, that her parents sucked for making her come home, but on the bright side, "at least it made you two finally get your act together, huh?" She'd hit him for that. Perhaps it had taken them a long time – too long really, since she'd been too sure that the beautiful Brazilian would never look twice at her, and 'Berto had been… 'Berto, but that didn't meant Sam was allowed to tease her about it.

Hopefully he'd be okay, and back to his old self soon, although it was a little… gratifying to know that he really hadn't been lying, and that he was going to miss her. Because she missed him… but no, she wasn't going to think about that, she admonished herself firmly. That would only make it harder to deal with being home.

* * *

**_NB: _**_Okay, yes, I have issues with Evo Jubilee – I didn't like her attitude toward Lance in Joyride, and her comments to Jamie in whatever episode that was with the Danger Room were plain bitchy. And if we go by my theory that in Evo, Jubilee's parents were never killed when she was a kid (I think it's them taking her away at the start of Mainstream), the spoilt brat attitude would kind of make sense – she never had the time on the streets to take the edges off. But if you're a die-hard Jubes fan, don't despair – there won't be any more mention of her being a bitch in the rest of this story, I promise._

_And for anyone wondering where I got the idea that Rahne and Roberto would be a good couple… go watch Retreat._


	3. Encounter

"What will it be girls?" asked Mr Fraser, proprieter of Ullapool's one and only teashop and local store.

The afternoon after receiving Kitty's letter, Rahne had met up with two of her friends to catch up on everything that had been going on in Ullapool for the past six months. In the two block walk to the teashop they'd already covered all the exciting goings-on – such riveting events as the local Haggis competition and Jamie MacLeod's new girlfriend from the exotic place of Aberdeen… Listening to the chatter of her two best friends, Rahne wondered if Ullapool had always been this small, or whether it was just that she had seen more of the world now.

"We'll just take three Irn-Brus thanks," answered Claire, her oldest friend and next-door neighbour, smiling politely at the old man.

Rahne grinned as she took her first sip of the soft-drink after the three girls had commandeered one of the teashop's tables. "I've missed this, you know."

"What, they dinna have nae soft-drinks in America?" Jess, the third member of the trio, asked in her typical not quite onto-it manner. It had always seemed slightly backward to Rahne that dark-haired Jess should be the vaguer, sillier one of her friends, often skirting if not actually crossing the line into inanity, while Claire, the blonde, had a mind like a knife and enough common sense for two people. Not in line with the stereotypes, but then, Rahne had to admit, she was hardly in a position to be surprised about appearances being deceptive.

"No, of course they do," she replied. "They practically invented them, I think. They just don't have Irn-Bru there…."

"Poor thing," commiserated Claire with a mock compassionate grin. "Nae wonder ye came back then…."

"Mmm," Rahne answered noncommittally.

"Nae before she picked up the accent though," said Jess.

"What? I don't have an accent!"

"Aye, ye do lass, and very pretty it is too." The interjection came from Mr Fraser. Rahne blushed. It was a surprise, and not a particularly welcome one. Her friends at the Institute used to swear that she'd kept more of her accent even than Kurt – but it seemed that people always notice the differences in the way you spoke, not the similarities. Like everything in life, really.

"Anyway, that isna the important thing at the moment," continued Claire. "We want ta hear all the dirt on what ye were doing over there…."

I was part of a secret association for superhuman mutants who were trying to save the world. It was probably not the right thing to say. "It was pretty much like one big boarding school," she told them instead.

"Were you all from overseas, then?"

"No, there were only four of us non-Americans there: me, Kurt, who's from Germany and Amara and Roberto from Brazil."

"You had Brazilians?" squealed Jess. "Were they hot?"

Rahne thought about Roberto. No, not at all cute at all, with his tanned skin, beautiful body and curly black hair. "They certainly thought they were," she said, pausing. "Oh, who am I kidding? They were Brazilian. Of course they were…"

"What about the other guys? What were they like?"

"Well there was Scott, Kurt and Evan – they were in the older group, I didn't have much to do with them; Bobby and Ray, who are my age, they were always off trying to show they could be just like the big guys, Jamie, who's 12, he just wanted to be like us, and Sam, he's a real Southern boy – polite and everything."

"Did ye have a thing for him, Rah?" asked Claire.

"What, Sam? Why does everyone assume that? No, I…," she stopped. She was not going to talk about this.

Unfortunately, her friends thought otherwise. "Ooh, there was a guy ye had a thing for! Come on, spill!" Claire said, and they both leaned in closer to hear.

"It…, there was…," they didn't look impressed. In fact she wasn't going to get away with not telling them. "It was Roberto."

"The Brazilian? Anything happen?"

"Well, um…," why did she have to go into this? "Not until just before I left."

"What? Rahne Sinclair got it on with a hot Brazilian?"

"Hey, it's not that unlikely is it?" she protested.

"No…," Jess paused, "umm…."

"Course it's not," Claire said firmly, glaring at Jess. "Our Rahne could get any man she wanted."

"Aw, shucks." Of course, Rahne was well aware it wasn't true, but it was nice to hear.

"So, if it was as good as all that, why'd ye leave?" asked Jess.

Oh no…. This was the hard question, the one that required answers that she couldn't really give. Rahne had known it would come eventually, but she still had to think for a while before replying.

"My parents wanted me to come home," she said. She didn't want to have to lie to her friends, and in any case, it was probably best to keep the story as simple as possible. "They didn't think America was safe anymore."

"Why?" asked Jess.  
Claire looked thoughtful. "It was all that stuff with mutants, wasn't it?"

Rahne tensed slightly. Claire had always been sharp. Too sharp, in this case. "Um, yeah. They, uh, didn't want me caught in the crossfire," she told them. She'd never been a good actor. But again, it was partly true. "They're a bit paranoid really." She tried to laugh, but it came out sounding hopelessly fake. Still, she couldn't smell any distrust from the other two girls.

"Yeah," Claire smiled. "Hey, did you say that your school was in New York? That's where all that stuff with the mutants happened, nae?" Rahne nodded. Claire looked at her appraisingly. "Did ya happen ta meet any of them?"

Rahne almost started at that, but controlled herself. It was only curiosity, she told herself. "New York State's a big place," she said finally. "It's not like Ullapool, there's millions of people – I hardly would have met all of them.…"

"No? Ye sure? I'd love ta meet a mutant." said Jess.

"They're not that different from anyone else," Rahne told her.

"I thought ye said ye didn't meet any mutants?" asked Claire sharply.  
"Well, I…." She was floundering. "The ones I saw on T.V seemed pretty normal, really."

"The one throwing lightning at a giant robot, or that strange blue one that kept on disappearin'?" Claire countered, an odd challenging look lighting up in her eyes.

"Ummm…." What could she possibly say to that? Rahne sat there, searching desperately for an answer under the stares of her best friends.

Luckily, there was a large crash from by the counter which made the other two girls turn around. Mr Fraser was on his hands and knees, helping a woman with bobbed orange hair pick up a mess of groceries that appeared to have dropped from the counter.

"Sorry about that," the woman was saying. "I'm just so clumsy sometimes, barely know what my arms are doing… I can get this."

"Oh no-no-no," spluttered Mr Fraser. "It's my pleasure really…." He was looking at her with smitten eyes. Rahne supposed that she was probably good enough looking for an older woman – she looked to be in her late forties or so, and was still slim, but it was still disturbing to see dear old Mr Fraser, who must have been at least seventy, trying to make himself seem masculine to impress a female.

"Oooh, he's got it bad for that one," Jess whispered to the other two girls. Rahne nodded.

The groceries were picked up eventually, although much slower than should have been the case, due mainly to Mr Fraser's attempts at helping, and the woman paid for everything and left. But before she closed the door behind herself she looked right at Rahne and gave her a broad wink, which no one else seemed to notice.

"Who was that lady?" asked Rahne after they'd watched her walk down the street.

"That would be Dr Moira MacTaggert," Claire told her.  
"Crazy old bint," added Jess by way of explanation.

"She isna crazy, Jess, she's a scientist," said Claire. "She's pretty involved with her work, but she's nice enough."

"She lives all alone out on that island," Jess replied. "With her experiments. I'd say that's pretty crazy…."

"Maybe she just got sick of dumbasses like you bothering her all the time," countered Claire. "I'm sure I'd get away ta an island if I could." She grinned, to show she was teasing. Jess pouted.

"What Island?" asked Rahne.

"Muir Island. Ye know the one, it's just a wee bit north of here, a few miles of the coast?"

"Okay." Rahne knew the one – it was almost completely barren, except for a solitary lighthouse. She wondered what kind of research this Moira MacTaggert was doing out in this isolated part of north Scotland. But more to the point was the question of how this woman knew her, and why she'd decided to help her out when the subject of mutants came up….

"So where were we anyway?" asked Claire.

"Oh, um…," Rahne took the opportunity to change the subject. "You were telling me about Jamie's new girlfriend. What was her name? Alice...?"

* * *

**_NB: _**_Comics readers will recognise Moira MacTaggert, prize-winning geneticist, inhabitant of Muir Island, and long time friend of Professor Xavier. Once again, she's not quite the same person here, that she was in the comics, but there's not too many differences._

_What else? The other characters are my own inventions, Irn-Bru is a real drink, which tastes a little like bubblegum and which I don't own._


	4. Excursion

Wolfsbane gazed across the silent moors from her position on top of the hills above Ullapool. It was near midnight, and pitch black to human eyes, but she could still see clearly from the background infrared radiation that never quite leaves, even during the darkest nights. There wasn't a lot to see apart from the rolling hills and the quietly moving waters of Loch Broom, but it was her home, her territory. It was time to reclaim it as hers.

The wolf took a deep breath, savouring the smells of the world around her. She could distinguish the various types of heather beneath her paws, the slight tinge of wood smoke from the fires of the town below, the individual scents of the sheep in the paddock below her, even the path which Russell MacLachlan had taken when he'd climbed the hill that morning. Her ears picked up the distant cry of a barn owl and the battering of the waves against the cliffs out to the west. She shook her shoulders, as if to slip the landscape on as a second coat.

On the kind of instinctual impulse that governed her when she let the wolf form take over, Wolfsbane began to run. This was freedom, a feeling she'd never quite been able to recreate at the Xavier Institute with its rules, limits, and most of all geographical boundaries. The highlands might be stifling and boring in human form when compared to America, but they gave the wolf space to roam. And she did, feeling more alive than she had been for months….

She ran west, over the Coigach peninsula, without any destination in mind, or indeed any thoughts at all except the thrill of travelling. The wolf finally pulled up when she reached the cliffs at Rhu Coigach some ten miles away. The breakers rolled in and pounded against the rock wall below her and a light wind whipped the heather around on its way out to sea. Looking up she could see a crescent moon glowing above her. There was one thing that wolves, especially werewolves must do in response to the moon. She raised her head toward the sky, took a deep breath, and sent the age old lupine salute to whatever lunar gods might be present. The howl was caught by the breeze and carried out past the headland, over the black waters of the Minch. Perhaps it even reached the isle of Lewis in the Outer Hebrides, perhaps not. Nevertheless, Wolfsbane continued….

.....

Rahne woke up back in her own room. Stifling a yawn, she turned to look at the alarm clock that was sitting beside her bed. The cheery little face showed it was 11.30am. What the…? How late had she been last night to sleep in this long? She tried to scramble out of bed at speed in order to get up as quickly as possible, but only succeeded in getting herself tangled up in the sheets and falling onto the floor.

Eventually, after changing to a far more dignified (and manageable) pace, Rahne made it downstairs. She found her mother in the kitchen, already busy with some kind of cooking.

"Did you have a nice sleep?" she asked as Rahne made herself a bowl of porridge. "It's a bit late for breakfast by now, isn't it darling?"

"I just got up, so it's breakfast time," she replied between mouthfuls.

"At quarter to twelve? Slow down dear, don't wolf your food…."

Rahne looked up quizzically, not quite believing that her mother had actually used that particular phrase. "What?" asked Mrs Sinclair. "What did I say?"

"Don't _wolf_ your food? Seriously mum, I thought you were above puns."

"What…. Oh, I'm sorry darling, slip of the tongue." Rahne nodded, saying nothing further, although she couldn't help but wonder if the 'slip' was something more. Her nose said it wasn't, she _knew_ it wasn't, but still… the worry remained.

"In any case," her mother continued, "why were you so late up this morning? Did you pick up the habit from the Institute?"

Aye, the Institute was just full of sloth and sleeping in, thought Rahne, what with the five-thirty wake-up calls for Danger Room sessions and all. But she didn't mention it to her mother, because it made her parents uncomfortable and protective when she talked about her training at the Institute. Instead she deflected the question, "I just sort of slept in a bit late," she said, and returned to her porridge. She also hadn't told them about her late night runs as a wolf, knowing that they would make her stop them in the interests of keeping herself safe – she had no intention of giving up her only chance of some freedom in Ullapool.

Upon finishing her porridge Rahne got up to help her mother with the cooking for lunch, working in a comfortable silence that made it easy to forget about any awkwardnesses or topics that were off-limits. She was in the process of chopping up a large number of carrots when her father walked into the kitchen, stomping mud across the smooth vinyl floor.

"Ian!" exclaimed Mrs Sinclair. "Boots off before you come inside!" He was suitably chastised and stepped out the door to remove the offending footwear.

"Nice ta know ye missed me, Jenny," he said, perfectly straight-faced.

"Well, indeed!" she responded indignantly, but then softened her tone. "I was expecting you back much earlier - is there some kind of problem out on the moors?" Mr Sinclair was the head ranger of the National Park beside Ullapool, Assynt Coigach.  
"Ye might say that" he replied. "MacLachlan found some of his sheep up by the coast this morning – he said it looked like they'd been ripped apart by some kind of wild animal…."

"Up by the coast? In Coigach?" asked Mrs Sinclair.

"Aye. Just a couple of miles from here."

Shocked, Rahne brought the knife down abruptly without looking at what she was supposed to be chopping, ending up with a neat slice across her index finger. "Ow!" she cried, and started sucking the injured hand.

Both parents turned at her exclamation. "Are ye alright there lass?" asked her father.

"Aye, I'm fine," she answered, after taking her hand out of her mouth. "I just missed the carrot." But her mind was racing – a wild animal killing sheep in Coigach, last night?

"You'd better do something for that hand," her mother fussed. "I'll go and get you a band-aid."

"Don't worry about it," Rahne told her.

"Don't worry about it? Rahne, that's quite a nasty cut you've got there – we've got to stop the bleeding!"

In response, Rahne held up her hand to her mother. The cut was still red and open, but the bleeding had already stopped and a clot was starting to form. "I heal faster than normal people, remember?" While she had no where near the regenerative power of Wolverine, she did heal at an accelerated rate.

Both her parents were staring at her hand, transfixed, and they did not smell particularly happy. While they loved her without question, their fear for her safety from bigots sometimes led them to almost try to ignore her mutation, as if to try to make it and all the problems it caused disappear through absence of attention. Rahne smiled weakly at them, with a hopeless sort of shrug, and received apologetic looks in return, which eventually melted into relieved smiles. Her parents were pleased at least, if not actually proud of her mutation. It was just that reminding them about it usually ended up making everything more uncomfortable.

.....

After lunch Rahne went outside to help her mother in the garden. And apparently their notion was not an atypical one, because in the garden next door was Claire's father, Reverend Craig.

"Nice day for it, Jenny," he remarked across the fence in a sombre tone that somehow seemed to be accusatory, as if he resented the sun for shining.

"That it is, Reverend," Mrs Sinclair replied. Her voice was not quite cool, but it didn't invite further conversation, although as usual, this was lost on the dour minister.

He then spotted Rahne. "Ah, and ye'd be helpin' your mother out in the garden. That's a good lass," he told her in a patronisingly paternal tone. Probably due to the living next door and being her best friend's father, Reverend Craig seemed to think he was some kind of surrogate father to Rahne, and never spared her from his sermonising advice.

"She's a great help," said her mother.

"And all the more so since she had a change of heart and gave up that silly notion of seeing the rest of the world, eh?" the minister said sternly. "Decided that America wasna so special when compared to Ullapool – those yanks just dinna compare to proper highland values…."

Rahne stared intently at the flower bed and tightened her lips to avoid giving a small growl. Reverend Craig's values mostly involved avoiding sin by removing any trace of pleasure, vitality or enjoyment from life – he'd heard about the austerity required by the Presbyterian church and tripled it to a point where even John Knox would have been telling him to lighten up. Not that even the old Calvinist reformer would have told Craig to his face – Ullapool's one and only minister was imposing to say the least, and he had never been known to brook argument.

Mrs Sinclair's easy-going outlook was also at odds with the churchman's model of piety, but she always managed to remain polite. "Yes, we decided that it would be much better for Rahne to be back home with her family," she said simply.

"Well it's all for the best," he told Rahne. "Anyway, Ullapool is quite an exciting place all by itself – did ye hear the news about MacLachlan's sheep, Jenny?" Rahne was forgotten in the interest of passing on the village gossip, although even that barely managed to make a dent in the solemn tone and dismal expression. Very little moved the Reverend to strong emotion. Except sin, of course.

"Yes, Ian told me they'd found a few bodies on the coast," Mrs Sinclair replied.

"Oh aye, but there's more than that, ye ken… they werena just killed – they were mutilated. Throats torn out, neat as ye please…." As he went on to describe in more graphic detail about the dead livestock, Rahne couldn't shake the annoying nagging thought that kept on popping up in her head: sheep killed up on Coigach by some kind of wild animal last night…. Why didn't she remember getting home?

* * *

**_NB: _**_Reverend Craig is another figure I've lifted from the comics, with a few changes. One that played a very important role in Rahne's backstory in them, but I won't explain all that and give away my whole plot just yet to those of you who are new to it._

_On other notes – absolutely no disrespect or the like is intended toward Christianity in general and the Presbyterian Church in particular by the characters and events in this fic. Really truly. I'm just being over-dramatic with a few details._

_Loch Broom, Assynt Coigach and Rhu Coigach are real places, just like Ullapool, and the geography is pretty much like I described (yeah, I'm pedantic, I know)._


	5. Game

It was another slow Monday afternoon in Ullapool, but Rahne was still feeling quite cheerful as she walked down the main street – after over a week of self-imposed night time house arrest she had tentatively ventured out in wolf-form last night and no dead bodies had turned up this morning. She was still somewhat weary, but had decided that she probably deserved some kind of celebration for not being a psychotic killer the previous night.

"Oi, Rahne!" came a young male voice on her right, over at the village green. She turned around to see a group of boys of about her age gathered there, with her friend Tony MacLeod, his distinctive tangle of messy brown hair, waving her over. The hair was a constant source of irritation to his mother, but Tony somehow managed to avoid her questing scissors more often than not. Today, his hair was looking even more like a birds nest than ever, as though he'd been running around, and he was bouncing a football. "We need another for a four-aside – ye want to join?"

As she reached them Rahne noticed a certain amount of displeasure in both the faces and scents of some of the other boys, most notably that of Murray Crawford, the ringleader of the group of village boys who thought that girls shouldn't play football. But that had never stopped her before she went to America, and it wasn't about to stop her playing now. Especially with Murray's face twisted into that particularly derogatory sneer. "Sounds great, Ton," she said, joining him.

Murray sneered. "Still wanting ta play with the boys, eh Sinclair? When are ye going ta learn that ye canna hack it?" Rahne merely rolled her eyes at this comment, but he continued anyway "Tell ye what – we'll give ye the ball to start with, eh? Ye'll be needin all the help ye can get…."

"Your loss then," she said simply, for once finding it easy to control her temper, and bent to tighten her shoelaces. Murray and a couple of his friends all leered, causing Tony to fire up. "Keep ye eyes to yerself, Crawford," he barked, but Rahne silenced him.

"Ignore him Ton," she said. "He obviously can't get his thrills anywhere else." Murray started to growl something, but she ignored him. "So, I get to start? Someone care to remind me of the rules?" One of the less observant boys on the other team opened his mouth, having missed the mocking tone, but she laughed "What, can't you boys understand sarcasm, then?"

She brought the ball to the centre of the makeshift field and rested her foot on it. "Should I just go?"

"Sure, we'll give ye a couple of metres as a head start," said Murray nastily.

"Why thank you sir, you're too kind," Rahne replied, pretending to bat her eyelashes, then kicked off. True to their word, at least to some extent, she had a couple of metres free run before the first one came in to tackle her. Too fast, as it turned out – she merely nudged the ball to her right and he ran past her. The second had learned something from his team-mate's mistake and came in slower and more cautiously. She feinted to the right, as if to repeat the same move, but as he went to block her off she stopped the ball, tapping it behind her leg back left, spun around and went past, leaving him turning around trying to see where she'd gone.

Now there were only two left between her and the two piles of clothing that marked the goal. Murray motioned his last crony forward to take her on. Rahne smiled as he lumbered toward her. As he neared she sent the ball past him to her right, but dodged left, coming around him to join up with the ball again, and face off against Murray.

"Ye might as well give up now, girlie," he told her, confident in his reputation as the best player in the village.

"After I've come all this way? Fat chance, loser," she rejoined. Flicking the ball up with her toe, she began bouncing it from foot to foot. "You'll have to come and get it."

He came toward her carefully, pushing his sandy hair back from his face so he could see properly – he wasn't about to be taken in by the same simple tricks as the others. Rahne kept juggling the ball as he drew close, until he was only about half a metre away. Then she flicked the ball over the top of her own head, turned and kicked it up again, this time letting it soar over behind Murray. She reached it just after the first bounce and volleyed it right between the two 'goal posts'.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she smiled, seeing the disbelieving and disgusted look on the boy's face. "Was I not supposed to do that? This game is just a little hard for my poor little female brain to understand…."

"That was mad, Rahne," exclaimed Tony as he and the rest of her team came up to congratulate her. "I mean, ye were never bad or nothing, but how did ye learn to beat someone like Crawford like that?"

"Guess I just picked up a few things in America," she said, mysteriously. "I had some good coaches…." Jean had been the first to notice the young Scottish girl's interest in football, and had started playing with her occasionally after school, but it was when Roberto had found out about it that her playing had really improved – he had been a rep back in Brazil, the home of soccer, and she'd taken the chance not only to hone her skills, but to have an excuse to spend time with him. Not that he'd seemed to mind, although she had thought originally that that just went to show just how obsessed with football he was.

After recovering from their first shock of being bested by a 'mere girl', the other team settled in and proved to be slightly more of a challenge. Nevertheless, Rahne's team was winning comfortably as a small crowd began to gather to watch the spectacle, apparently taking some enjoyment from it too….

"How's ye pride, Crawford?" called Toni's brother Jamie from the bank which formed one of the 'sidelines'. "I'll go call ye ma, tell her her wee boy must be ailin', he's being beaten by a lass!" There was a round of laughter at that – Murray was disliked by much of the village for his arrogance, and it seemed to be thought by most that it was about time that he got his just desserts. He glared at the crowd.

Rahne took the opportunity provided by this distraction to step past the sandy-haired boy once again with the ball, and grinned at him again. "Oh, are you sick?" she asked sweetly. "Maybe I should give you a headstart?"

"Ye wish, Sinclair." He narrowed his eyes and came at her again, as if to attempt to tackle her.

But instead of going directly for the ball his foot lunged out at her ankle. She heard a crack as she was sent tumbling to the ground. Murray stood there with an oddly triumphant smirk on his face as she tried to get up and fell down again as she put her weight on her right ankle.

"Rahne, are ye alright?" asked a concerned Tony as the rest of her team rushed up to check on her. "What happened?"

Before Rahne could speak, the boys were pushed aside by another figure from the crowd who solemnly intoned, "The Lord has righteously repaid the sins of undue pride and lack of decorum in a woman, by His holy providence."

Oh, hallelujah, Rahne thought (slightly blasphemously) – Reverend Craig. She chose to ignore him. "Oh, it's nothing too bad. I think my ankle might be sprained though." She glared at Murray Crawford, who, far from appearing abashed, returned the expression.

"What should we do?" Tony asked her. "Should I be carryin' ye home or gettin' a bandage or something?"

"Most certainly not!" cried Reverend Craig. "It is not for us to interfere with sufferings that our Almighty God inflicts upon those who transgress His holy laws – such divine punishment must not be ameliorated." There were some looks of faint disagreement in the faces surrounding Rahne, but none seemed willing to speak – she could smell their fear of the minister who had the whole of the small god-fearing community well in his control.

"Nonsense," came another firm voice from the back of the crowd. "Divine punishment my foot! It was more like a spiteful piece of petty revenge from an immature boy who should have been brought up better." There were a few quiet murmurs of almost assent at this speech, and the crowd parted to reveal the same short woman who'd helped Rahne out the week before – what was her name? Moira something?

"Now let me see the damage that's been done," she said, brushing past Craig without a second glance as she bent down to inspect Rahne's ankle. The crowd stayed, almost hypnotised by this woman who seemed to pay no heed to the all-powerful minister. "Don't you have better things to do?" she asked briskly, looking up at them. So much for Jess's description of a head-in-the-clouds scientist type, thought Rahne. "Go on, there's nothing to see here!" They all scattered, including Murray. "And don't be thinking I won't be talking to your father young man," Moira called after him. You could see Murray quake slightly – his father was known to deal harshly with any sons that brought shame on the family.

Tony was still hovering around. "Do ye need me ta do anything, miss?" he asked.

"No, thank you, Mr MacLeod, was it? We'll manage just fine," she told him firmly.

"Yeah, it's okay, really, Ton," Rahne added. "I'll see you later…." She wanted to find out something about this mysterious woman who seemed to be making a habit of coming to her rescue.

"Why are you helping me?" she asked, suspiciously. The wolf in her was inclined to be distrustful of strangers, even seemingly friendly ones.

"I think it would be best for now just to say that we have a mutual friend who charged me with keeping an eye on you," said the older woman simply, with a slightly wary glance around them. She wasn't lying, Rahne could smell that much, but she wasn't disclosing everything either.

"Friend? Do you mean the Pr…," Rahne started to ask, but was quickly cut off.

"That's enough of that topic for now." And the scientist refused to say anything more about the topic as she helped the girl to her feet and back to the Sinclair's home.

* * *

**_NB: _**_Football would be what Americans and Kiwis would call soccer, in case anyone's forgotten. And… what else? This chapter owes a lot to Bend it Like Beckham, which is an awesome awesome movie. _


	6. Observation

**_NB: _**_this chapter was not in my original version of the story. But about the time I got to chapter 26, I started thinking that the two halves were getting really unbalanced. Plus I wanted to show a wee bit more about Reverend Craig and how he operates. And… this is what came out._

_Big thanks to **Beaubier**, for giving this an advance read and making sure it wasn't just a case of me being an idiot who can't leave things alone! And for knowing about SFA! You rock doll!_

* * *

"What _were_ ye doing last night, Rah?"

It wasn't the most pleasant question to be woken up with at the best of times, and considering her worries about her night-time activities, Rahne was a little surprised that Claire's question didn't send her into a panic attack despite being uttered in a tone of good-natured teasing. At least she hadn't been sleeping in wolf-form, like she sometimes did. "What…?… umm… what do you mean?" she asked, propping herself up in bed and fixing sleep-fogged eyes on her friend, who was standing at the door, backpack hanging from one shoulder.

"Well, it's 9.30, and ye're still in bed," the blonde girl replied, crossing the room to sit down in the old armchair. "What's the matter, cushy living in America make ye soft or somethin'?" Her scent plainly showed that she was joking, but Rahne didn't need her nose to be able to read her friend.

Rahne rolled her eyes as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, sitting up. "Oh haha…you're a right comedian, Miss Craig, anyone ever tell you that?"

"Aye, of course – or they would, if anyone in this idiot town could tell a joke when it bit them."

Rahne snorted at the idea. It was true, in general the inhabitants of Ullapool tended toward a certain concreteness of thinking which didn't translate too well into humour. "Seriously though, what are you doing here at 9.30 in the morning?"

"I have a new addition to the music collection," answered Claire, producing a CD from the depths of the backpack. "Wanted ta get it over here before my father does his usual Wednesday morning room inspection."

"Oh… that's cool." It was part of an arrangement that had lasted almost as long as Rahne could remember. Certain things that the Reverend considered sinful or frivolous were kept at the Sinclairs. Rahne's parents had always encouraged her friend's small measures of rebellion: dolls, picture books, and more recently magazines and rock music – it was Claire's way of salvaging something of a normal childhood between the sermons and the rigid schedule her father laid down for her. "What did you get this time?"

"The new Coldplay album. Chris Martin is utterly fit, nay?" Getting up out the chair, Claire crossed the room to the CD player. "Do ye mind if I put it on?"

"Go ahead," Rahne replied, waving a hand at the stereo. She wasn't particularly knowledgeable about music, but Claire's taste was usually okay. "Did you get anything else while I was away?"

"A few things." Claire opened the top desk drawer where her CDs were stashed. "Here, you might like this." She selected one album and tossed it to Rahne, who caught it neatly. "They're a Welsh band – just sort of quirky and fun."

Turning the case around in her hands, Rahne slowly read the name. "Super Furry Animals?" she asked, looking up sharply. Claire couldn't know… could she? But her friend was oblivious, listening intently to the first track of her new CD, and her scent was completely innocent of suspicion or mistrust. Rahne allowed herself to relax a little, even managing a laugh. "Aye, it sounds like me," she said. She'd have to mention it to Kurt and Mr McCoy sometime when she wrote to the Institute – her fellow furry mutants would appreciate the joke.

"Aye," the other girl nodded absently. She twisted around to look back at Rahne, but then frowned and started brushing at her clothes. "What the hell? I have hair all over my back. Or fur, or somethin' - it's too short ta be hair… Where did that come from?"

Rahne froze, praying to God that she'd managed to keep her face blank. She'd spent too much time in wolf-form curled up in the armchair which Claire had been sitting – she must have shed all over it. "Oh…," she said. "That's very… odd…"

"Aye, it is. Funny, it looks a wee bit like your colour, Rahney…"

But any further speculations on Claire's part about the origin of the hairs stuck to her clothing were cut short by sudden sounds of commotion from the street outside. Both girls rushed to the window of the bedroom and pulled open the curtains to look down on the normally empty lane outside.

Empty no longer, as a small knot of people came chattering and speaking amongst themselves, breaking up the normal peace of the neighbourhood. Rahne thought she recognised the leading figure as Mrs MacBride, one of Ullapool's most upstanding - or at least strictest and most sour - residents. The vinegary old matron had two young people in tow, one dark-haired and one fair, and if she wasn't actually yanking them along by the ears, there was a definite hint of frogmarching in the way the two figures dragged their feet and shot each other nervous glances. With a stab of pity, Rahne realised that one of the figures was her friend Jess. The other was Murray Crawford, but to her surprise, Rahne found that she actually even felt sorry for him, being caught in this procession. There could only be one destination for this parade of righteous citizenry, so determined in their stance and stride, and neither Rahne nor Claire were in any way surprised when Mrs MacBride brought her two unwilling charges to a halt in front of the Craig's front door and rapped smartly on the plain grey-painted panels.

Up in Rahne's bedroom the two girls shared a look and nodded to each other before heading out the door and down the stairs. This event warranted closer inspection. Not too close of course, until they'd sorted out exactly what was happening, lest they got caught in it themselves, but close enough to hear what was going on. So, quietly as possible, they snuck out the back door and crept along the line of the fence, keeping down and out of sight of the group of concerned villagers.

"…so good of ye ta spare your time for us, Reverend," Mrs MacBride was saying as they approached.

"The Lord has time for every one of His children, and so must I," the sonorous voice of Claire's father announced. "The question which we must each ask ourselves every day is how we can best do His work."

"Exactly, Reverend, that's just as I've always said." Rahne was almost sure she could hear the self-satisfied nod in the matron's voice. "And that's why I've brought these two here ta ye today, ye ken?"

Shooting a glance over at Claire, Rahne noticed that her friend had her eye pressed to one of the gaps between the fence pailings. She followed suit, just in time to watch as the minister stalked forward to inspect the two penitent detainees. "Really," was all he said, lips pursed and eyes considering. Murray blanched and wilted under the churchman's stare, and Jess was not far off it either.

"Oh aye," replied Mrs MacBride, who appeared to have volunteered herself as the spokesperson for this particular gathering. "I was just taking my daily walk, and mindin' my own business…" Beside her, Rahne heard Claire let out a loud snort. She shot a warning glance at her friend to remind her to be quiet. "…when I came across these two youngsters fornicating down one of the lanes in the village."

Fornicating? Rahne felt her eyes widening as she turned to Claire in disbelief. Surely not, not in the street… that was just – beyond belief. Whether Reverend Craig was as surprised as she was at the accusation, she couldn't tell, not from this distance, but he repeated the word himself, with just the hint of a question in his tone, all the while keeping his gaze fixed on Jess and Murray. "Fornicating?"

Mrs MacBride opened her mouth to repeat her triumphant denunciation, but she was beaten to speaking by an outburst from Jess. "That's a lie! We werena fornicating or naught, Reverend..." The minister said nothing in reply, merely raising his eyebrows, but his face seemed to harden somehow, and from her right, Rahne could hear Claire muttering "shut up, shut up" under her breath. But somehow Jess had gone past heeding the warning signs, not even pausing when her pointed look at Murray for assistance gained nothing from the boy but a studied inspection of his shoes. "It wasna anythin' serious - we were just kissing!"

Rahne didn't even need the small sigh from Claire to know that Jess had just said very much the wrong thing. Before her friend had had any further chance to explain herself, the Reverend had seized upon her words and bored into them. "Just kissing? The Lord doesna excuse sin because it isna anything 'serious', young lassie. Especially when it involves something that can be nothing other than a prelude ta wicked fornication outside the holy bonds of matrimony." His tone was solemn, but the words still rang out stridently, falling on the smug smiles of the gathering of residents and the horrified expressions of the two young people with equal unconcern. "There is nae such thing as 'just kissing', particularly when it involves such a young Jezebel like yourself. Not only have ye committed the sins of lust, ye have obviously led astray an impressionable young lad with your harlotry." Jess gasped indignantly and opened her mouth to protest once again, but the minister continued over her. "And now, ye make it worse by showing a complete lack of respect for your elders. Such entrenched sin is dangerous, and it must be swiftly punished ta prevent its spread. Therefore… for your sins of lust, ye shall spend one month in the service of the Lord. Some solitary time spent in cleaning the Church should provide ample time for contemplation, I believe. And furthermore," he told Jess, "ye shall spend this time and an extra two months aiding Mrs MacBride with whatever jobs she has need of. Perhaps that will teach ye ta better respect your elders." The smile that grew on the matron's acid face at this pronouncement was particularly horrifying, rich with the promise of two months of inventive slavery. Jess blanched, but this time at least, she managed to keep her mouth shut.

As the small crowd dispersed, leading the two mortified teenagers away, Rahne spun around to face her other friend. "Claire, you have to do something, that's unfair."

"Aye, I ken," the blonde girl replied. "Murray should have been punished too - he was in it just as deep."

"Nay, I mean it was unfair to punish either of them for..." Rahne started, but she faltered on seeing the blank stare her friend was giving her. "It _was_ just kissing," she said instead, all the while wondering why she had to sound so defensive.

For a second Claire said nothing, but the level look she was giving for once marked her plainly as her father's daughter. Her scent was unreadable, but eventually she seemed to relax and relent. "Aye, it was, I suppose. But hell, Rah, Jess has herself ta blame for it all – if she was going ta do that sort of thing, she should have been more discreet. And she should have kent enough ta keep her mouth shut too…"

"Aye, but it's still unfair," Rahne protested. Claire nodded immediately this time. "So you should do something about it – talk to your father and get him to change his mind."

"I canna," Claire replied. "Ye ken that I canna. Ye ken what he's like – when has he ever listened ta anything that anyone said, let alone me?" Rahne wanted to protest, but she had to admit that Claire was right.

"But still," she said anyway, "shouldn't you try anyway?"

"Why?"

"Because…" somehow, she couldn't find the words to describe the feeling that even if something was hopeless, you had to try.

"It wouldna do anything, Rah. And even if it did…" Claire never finished the sentence, trailing off to stare at one of the knotholes in the fence pailing in front of her, and Rahne wasn't actually sure that she wanted to know what her friend had been about to say.

* * *

**_NB: _**_I don't own Chris Martin, Coldplay, or the Super Furry Animals. Nevertheless, they are all real! I couldn't resist adding in the reference to SFA, who are Welsh and amazing and funnily enough have a song called Demons. _


	7. Lecture

"Rahne! Over here!" Claire called as the Sinclairs filed into the small parish church that Sunday. As the minister's only family she was already seated in the front pew.

Rahne didn't like church services, particularly Reverend Craig's, but the whole of the village was required to be there each Sunday on pain of absolute ostracism. Her parents may have complained in private about the excessive influence of the church on their lives, but Reverend Craig's sway over the village was total and they dutifully attended church along with everybody else each Sunday. In any case it was easiest to face when Claire was there to pull faces with behind the hymn books. Jess too, usually, but today she was already at work scrubbing the walls outside.

It wasn't that Rahne didn't believe in God, or at least, she didn't think it was. God had been a constant part of her life for as long as she could remember between the trips to the Church on Sunday and the Reverend's tendency for impromptu sermons. Belief was the natural product of fifteen years of repetition of the message. Most of the time, she didn't even think about her faith, any more than she thought about breathing – it was just there, a part of her. She seldom prayed, either - for one thing, what was the point? Things had a tendency to work themselves out, after all, for better or worse. And then Reverend Craig's Lord wasn't the sort of God that granted wishes.

As she walked along the aisle, still wondering about God, she was stopped by Jamie MacLeod. "How's the ankle, Rahne?" he asked.

"Huh? It's fine…, what?" she said, confused. For the life of her, she couldn't work out what he was talking about.

"Really? It looked quite nasty when ye fell on it at the football match on Monday," he said conversationally.

Realisation dawned. "Oh, that! Nay, it's really okay, no major damage or anything," Rahne said, trying to think of a way out of the topic. Her ankle had been sprained badly, but it had healed perfectly by Thursday, thanks to her mutant abilities, although she wasn't about to disclose that.

"Aye? Tony was saying that it looked like ye'd sprained it…," he went on, with a note of something, possibly suspicion in his scent.

"Oh no, it looked a lot worse than it was, really," she said quickly, painfully aware of just how stupid she sounded. "Sorry, I have to go, service is about to start…." She dashed off to where Claire was sitting, leaving him gazing after her with a thoughtful expression.

As Rahne squeezed into the space between her parents and Claire, her friend gave a conspirational nudge. "Did ye hear about last night?"

"What about last night?"

"They found more dead sheep up on the moors this morning…."

Rahne froze – she'd been out again last night. "Where?" she asked, trying without much success to keep the worry from her voice.

"I dinna ken, but somewhere North of here."

"But what happened? How many did it get?"

Mr Sinclair, who had overheard the whispered conversation, leant over. "I wouldna worry about it, lass. It's most likely to be some farmer's dog gone stray – I hear that old McLennaghan's stock dog's gone missin'…."

"Well, maybe the killer got it too – surely it would ha' come home by now otherwise," countered Claire. "My father says that it's a demon come ta punish us for our sins." As always, Claire's usually particularly sharp mind always seemed to have a blind spot when it came to her father – the result of indoctrination from a young age, perhaps. "Anyway, why are ye so worried about it Rahne? It isna about ta start attacking humans…."

"Um, what? Oh… it's those poor sheep," Rahne said weakly. Lying had never been her strong point. Claire gave her a second searching glance for the day, but was prevented from asking anything more because at that moment Reverend Craig began his sermon. It was probably the first time in her life that Rahne had actually been glad that he started talking.

"Sin…," his voice boomed across the small church. "It pervades all our lives – our homes, our work, our… recreations." With this he sent a pointed glance at Rahne. "It is the work of the Church ta eliminate sin from the lives of its flock – but the Church cannot act alone ta remove this evil! It requires an honest and deep-seated commitment from each and every person present to eradicate it from themselves and make sure that it is eradicated from others." His eyes roamed throughout the parishioners, as if to dare each of them to confess their terrible misdeeds.

"Unfortunately," he continued, "we have been lax in our efforts at self-improvement. We have allowed complacency and apathy stand between us and our chance of salvation by our Lord. I can see the sin hanging on each and every one of ye out there in the audience," and he sent another pointed glance at Rahne, who looked away, trying to stifle a snort. So far this was the same fare that the Reverend dished up every week. "This mustna continue! We mustna let our foolish desires or moral compunctions interfere with our quest for total spiritual purity."

He looked around the church once again. "I can see the doubters in the audience – they're thinking that people really aren't so bad – maybe they just need a 'break', someone ta give them a chance?" He paused. "Poor misguided fools! Ye have ignored the evidence that is sitting right in front of your faces…. Your indifference has allowed a scourge ta invade the earth!" He was almost shouting now.

"And what is this scourge, ye may ask? I will tell ye – there are devils who walk upon our earth, wreaking havoc and destruction wherever they go! They have been sent ta us by Satan, who is intent on corrupting our hearts and minds! Everybody here knows what I am speaking of – the news media has termed these devils mutants, and claims that they are a special breed of humans, but we all know that they are wrong! The proof is in their own footage – didna one of these so-called 'mutants' even possess cloven hooves and a forked tail?" Once again, a pause for dramatic effect. "These arena humans, but demons that live among us, pass for normal people, all the while spreading their filthy corruption!" Flecks of spittle were beginning to fly from the corners of his mouth. Rahne tried to hold back her rising anger and nervousness, but she couldn't help the reflexive tightening of her knuckles around the hymn book on her lap. She hoped that Claire hadn't noticed anything.

Meanwhile, the diatribe continued. "Fear these devils and their debased ways! But dinna despair, for the Lord, in all his omniscient benevolence, has provided us with a chance of salvation! Ta redeem ourselves for our sin and our apathy we must begin a new crusade – ta drive out the devils from our world, and send them back ta the fiery pits from whence they came! At all costs, we must not allow ourselves ta be deluded into thinking that these 'mutants' are nae threat. And we mustna believe that we are safe here in Ullapool!" There was something of a collective gasp from the crowd. Rahne froze, frantically trying to process everything. Where did this come from?

"Aye, well might ye be shocked, but our isolation doesna free us from the demonic concerns of these devils – just look at the recent fiendish killings of our sheep, our livelihoods – is this not clear evidence of demonic behaviour?" Rahne saw her father mouth 'nay' out of the corner of her eye, but he looked to be in a minority among the parish, who always liked a good ranting sermon. She could feel her anxiety mounting "We must be on our guard against this demonic threat! But put your faith in God, mend your sinful ways, and He will protect ye from the scourge!"

There was more to the sermon, but Rahne couldn't pay attention to the words. Questions were tumbling around in her head, breaking her concentration without supplying any answers. Did Reverend Craig know, or suspect about her identity as a mutant? Did he know about her midnight excursions? What if she was the 'thing' that was doing these killings? What would happen if the other residents of Ullapool found out?

…..

Caught up in her musings, Rahne didn't notice that the Reverend had stopped talking until she was elbowed by her father. She got up quickly, and barely staying to pay the most basic of civilities to other people in the church she hurried out and almost ran back to her house. Her parents followed.

"What is it, lass?" asked her father.

"What is it?" she shouted. "Were ye not listening? The whole sermon about the evils of mutants and how we must eradicate them?" The anger and resentment that she had built up against the Reverend during his sermon now came bursting out at her parents.

"Aye, I know it sounded bad, lass," her father began, trying to placate her, "but Reverend Craig is always harping on about one thing or another – naught ever comes of it."

"Oh come on! You saw him up there – he was deadly serious! And no one was trying to disagree with him – not even you!" she yelled accusingly.

"Now really Rahne," said her mother, "you know we don't agree with him – we love you for everything you are, including your mutation – and we don't believe that you are any kind of devil."

That stopped her for a second. Her parents did love her, would support her to the end. She knew that without question. But even that knowledge couldn't put her at ease. "Aye, well right at the moment you two are probably the only people in this town who wouldn't think that if they knew the truth!" she yelled. "If they found out…."

"But there's no way that they will find out, lass."

"You don't know that! Anything could happen! And you brought me back here to this! I would have been better off being blown up in the Institute again!" Rahne realised that this was slightly over the top when she said it, knew that she was being unfair and melodramatic, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she would have felt more safe back in Bayville, even though they had been exposed there.

"We're here for ye, lass," said her father. "We're here to protect ye."

"And how do ye possibly think ye can do that? And what about if something happens to my powers that I can't control – who will protect people from _me_ then?"

"We trust you darling," said her mother.

"Well, maybe you shouldn't." With this, Rahne turned and ran up to her room, leaving her parents behind with bewildered expressions on their faces.

* * *

**_NB:_**_ This has been edited after it was kindly pointed out to me that I hadn't given any time to Rahne's faith… Anyway, just thought I'd mention that._


	8. Visit

A week passed, almost silently. Rahne tried to ignore her parents for the first couple of days, but eventually both personality and practicalities got in her way – for one thing her essentially loyal nature made it very hard to hold grudges against people she loved, but it was also impossible to manage to ignore people when they provide you with meals. So there was a wary, subdued kind of peace reigning in the Sinclair home at the beginning of the Easter break.

"Where's Dad gone this morning?" Rahne asked her mother. She hadn't seen her father at all that day, but she didn't think he was out on the National Park. But maybe he was – what if more bodies had turned up? The nagging doubts over her powers and her sanity when using them had caused her to withdraw into herself over the past week, even after the ignoring had subsided. She could smell the concern that both her parents shared over her, but hadn't been able to rouse herself out of her negative mindset enough to allay their fears – she was never a good actor at the best of times, and apathetic depression is definitely not the best of times. Her parents were still unaware of the connection with the sheep killings though, and were putting it down to missing the Institute.

"Oh, he had some business down at Garve this morning," her mother replied. "He should be back very soon."

And sure enough, in a couple of minutes Rahne heard the car pull up outside their gate. She went to the front door to greet him, and to try and surreptitiously find out what he had been doing – maybe there was more information on the killer? But she wasn't sure what she wanted to hear, especially when more evidence might just lead straight to her. As relieving as it might be to know, she really didn't fancy the idea of being exposed as a psychotic savage killer.

"What were you in Garve for?" she asked, trying to keep her voice casual.

"Just had ta pick something up from there, lass," he said mysteriously as he hung his coat up on the rack. "It's waitin' out there on the doorstep for ye.…"

Puzzled, Rahne walked to the front door and opened it cautiously. There was a figure standing there, suitcase in hand. Rahne's mouth dropped open in surprise before she recovered herself somewhat and leapt, knocking the visitor to the ground in a flying tackle.

"Whoa, down girl!" he said. "Did ya miss me, Wolfie?" Rahne fought back the lupine urge to lick Roberto's face and smiled at him before replying.

"Not at all, Sunshine…."

"Well, in that case, please get off me and I'll just go right back to the Institute!" he huffed.

She stayed where she was. "Well, maybe just a little bit then…."

"Hah! I knew it! The girls can never resist me!"

"You just keep on telling yourself that, Sunny boy." Her voice was sarcastic but inside she was bursting with pleasure – he'd come to see her!

"So, is being pounced on by a mad wolf-girl the only welcome I get?" he asked, mock plaintively. "It gets marks for enthusiasm, but it's not really what I was hoping for.…"

"Oh," she said, worried. "What did you want?" Was he expecting some kind of formal introduction to Scotland, or a platonic handshake?

"Just this," he said, and kissed her. She responded willingly. In fact, they were still sprawled on the front doorstep when Rahne heard footsteps on the road and looked up to see a very scandalised Mr Fraser walking past.

"Maybe we should go inside," she suggested sheepishly. They'd been lucky that it had been Mr Fraser and not Mrs MacBride or one of her clique walking past. Roberto nodded. They picked themselves up, dusted each other off and entered the house. "So how come you came here anyway?" she asked.

"Well, it's Spring Break – most of the others went on a cruise in the Caribbean, but the Professor asked me if I wanted to come here, instead." He flashed her another dazzling Roberto-smile.

"But how did he know that I wanted to see you?"

"The guy's a telepath, Wolfie."

"Yes, but not over a few thousand miles!"

"Actually lass, I think your mother and I had something ta do with that," came her father's voice from the living room. "We called the Institute, told them ye seemed ta be missing them a lot…."

Rahne led Roberto in to the room. "Oh… Thank you."

"Actually, I don't think that we even needed to ring," said Mrs Sinclair. "He seemed to be very up-to-date about what you'd been up to." Rahne's thoughts went to the strange woman, Moira, who had been there to help her when she needed it. Twice. It was strange, really. "Anyway, welcome to Scotland, Roberto – I hope it will compare with a cruise."

Roberto smiled politely, but he was looking at Rahne. "I'm sure it will," he said.

"Which brings me to the rules," continued her mother. "You two sleep in separate rooms, no funny business, no excessively late nights. Okay?"

"Yes, mother," said Rahne quickly. She didn't care however many rules her mother had put on her – Roberto had come to see her! She was struggling with a nagging desire to wag a non-existent tail.

……

"Does the sun ever show up here?" asked Roberto, frowning. "I'm totally out of juice!" The two teenagers were sitting up on one of the hills looking over Loch Broom. Rahne had wanted him to see some of her favourite places in her hometown.

"Very occasionally, and never for very long at a time," she replied. "You'd probably have been better off going on the cruise with the others.…"

"Are you kidding? I would have had to room with Jamie!" He shuddered melodramatically. "And Tabitha and Bobby are both going, so it's doomed to disaster anyway…." Putting one arm around her, he smiled, an odd sort of grin. "There's no way it would have been better than this, even with your awful Scottish weather. I told you I'd see you again Wolfie…."

She looked at him searchingly. "Aye, but then you never wrote or anything!"

"Oh, well… um…… hey! Neither did you!"

Now it was Rahne's turn to be on the spot. "Aye, but, um…," she trailed off. She'd wanted to, but then she'd interpreted his silence as a sign that he'd forgotten about her. "Okay, it's a draw, we're both hopeless."

"Speak for yourself!" He said. Some things never changed, and Roberto Da Costa's self-confidence was one of them. Rahne just laughed at him.

"So what _do_ you do round here all day then?" he asked.

"Not a lot really." She told him the story about her game of football, which he appreciated. In fact he wanted to go down into town and challenge Murray to a rematch – apparently no one got away with fouling Sunspot's girl. Rahne had to disappoint him on that notion. "I don't think Murray's going to want to play football again for a while; the last time I saw him he was limping a wee bit and he couldna sit down," she told him.

"Do you realise how Scottish you sounded there?" Roberto asked.

"Really? Guess the accent's coming back a bit…," At last! She had had enough of the villagers commenting on her supposed American speech.

A little longer sitting in the silence which 'Berto's presence seemed to make comfortable, and Rahne was already feeling more relaxed than she'd been for a long time. "I'm bored," she announced suddenly.

"Are you sick of me already?" he asked, teasing.

"Nay, but I feel like playing a game," she replied, bouncing up and down.

"Not that game again," he groaned, knowing exactly what she meant. Everyone who had been at the Institute had quickly got to know and dread when Rahne said she wanted to play. "We don't even have anything here!"

"A girl can always improvise," she said coyly.

"Alright, but it's just because I like you, and I'm exceedingly generous," he grumbled. Rahne giggled and let herself transform into a wolf.

As always, the enhanced senses hit her in a rush. Wolfsbane turned to the olive-skinned boy expectantly. He sighed, but picked up a stick from the ground and lobbed it over the wolf's head for her to chase. She caught it and brought it back, tail wagging furiously. She'd greatly missed being playing fetch since she'd been back in Scotland – her parents wouldn't have approved, no one else could know about her shape-shifting, and it would have been hard to convince anyone to play it in human form. She gave the boy her patented wolfish grin, and he laughed and threw the stick again.

The game continued until Wolfsbane heard a suggestion of footsteps climbing the hill. She looked to see the lean form of Russell MacLachlan tramping up the track with one of his sheepdogs in tow. He was downwind of the teenagers, otherwise she would have been alerted to him earlier – but it was too late to change back now.

"Hello," he said, eyeing Roberto suspiciously. "And who might ye be?'

"Roberto Da Costa – I'm staying with the Sinclair's for the Easter break."

"Och." This seemed to redeem him slightly in the man's eyes. He turned to look at Rahne. "And would that be your dog there, laddie?"

"Umm… I suppose you might say she's my bitch," said Roberto in a deadpan voice. Wolfsbane glared at him and nipped his hand. "Ow! Yes, I uh… brought her with me – she likes the fresh air."

"Aye, Ullapool has plenty o' fresh air." The sheepdog trotted over to Wolfsbane and started sniffing her. She resisted the urge to growl – this was the worst part of looking like a dog, having to put up with their stupid investigating noses – they almost always noticed the strange scent of the werewolf. "She's a fine specimen – some kind of German shepherd cross?"

"Could be," said Roberto, trying to play along. "I'm really not sure to be honest, but I always thought she was of Scottish stock."

"Hmmph," said MacLachlan laconically and started to walk off. "Ye'd best be careful with her, Mr Da Costa – there's a demon on the loose in Ullapool, and it's been killin' sheep, dogs too. Wouldn't want her ta get hurt, aye?"

"A demon?" he asked, trying not to laugh. "No, I'll do my best to protect her, sir."

The sheepdog started to growl at Wolfsbane, who bared her teeth in return. Luckily the man called him to heel and he followed, turning back to give another low growl in the wolf's direction.

As soon as they were out of sight Rahne transformed back into her normal self and the two mutants fell about laughing.


	9. Confession

Walking back to the house the two teenagers ran into Claire and her father.

"And who might this be?" asked Reverend Craig, looking at Roberto.

"Um, this is a friend of mine from America, Roberto da Costa," Rahne said, wondering what kind of reaction the minister would have to her having a male staying with her. "He's visiting over Easter."

"So ye live in America," he said, giving the boy an appraising look. "Ye'll be well aware of the current menace that is faced by us all, then." Roberto looked at him questioningly. "I'm talking about the plague of demons," explained Reverend Craig, "mutants, they call them…." Rahne could see the realisation dawning on Roberto's face and tried to silently beg him to stay calm, a thing the Brazilian had never been very good at. In fact his fists were already beginning to tighten….

"Mutants aren't demons," he said. "They're just like you or I. In fact…." Rahne went to put a warning hand on his shoulder, but the Reverend interrupted anyway.

"Ye are mistaken, lad," he said, calmly. "Ye've been misled by the corruption that is inherent in today's media – they are all agents of sin, abetting the demonic menace."

"But…," Roberto began. "I…." Rahne could smell him start to get angry. Knowing that he tended to 'power up' whenever he lost control of his emotions she quickly grabbed his arm and began to pull him away.

"Ye might just be right, Reverend," she said. "But we'd best be going, my mother is expecting us home for tea…." And with that she dragged the confused boy away.

"What was all that about?" Roberto demanded furiously once they go back inside the house. The Brazilian had never been good at concealing his anger "Agreeing with that bigot! I should have told him where to go!"

"Nay, that's exactly what you shouldn't have done," said Rahne.

"Have you decided you're ashamed of being a mutant?" he asked, almost yelling.

That was too much.

"How dare you!" Rahne yelled back. "Of course I'm not ashamed! But I can't risk them finding out about me either!"

"I'm sorry," he said, backing down in a rare gesture for him. He seemed disconcerted by her outburst. "It's just that everyone's known about us in Bayville for a few months now, and we've managed okay…."

This semblance of an apology was too late for Rahne. Once she'd got angry, she could almost never control it. "Of course ye've bloody managed okay! No one would dare go up against Wolverine or the Professor! And even if they did, there's nearly twenty of ye there! I'm on my own!" Roberto actually looked abashed, but she couldn't stop. "Last week they chased a tourist and his family out of the village here: they said he was a mutant. They were ready to beat him to a pulp just because he predicted the outcome of a soccer game! What do you think they'd do if had even the slightest suspicion that I was a werewolf?" She paused, breathless.

He didn't say anything, but stepped toward her and gently grasped her wrists, which had been flailing at the air. She struggled for a second and then the wave of anger which had fuelled her outburst failed and she broke down into tears on his shoulder. "It's just… I'm alone and…," she managed to gulp out between sobs.

"Hey, no… I'm here Wolfie," he said, folding her in a deep hug.

……

That night Rahne found herself outside the door of the guest bedroom. She knocked softly. The door was opened by a slightly bleary Roberto clad only in boxers.

"Wha… what are you doing here?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

"What does it look like?" Rahne asked. "I couldn't sleep."

"But… what about your mother's rules?"

Rahne smiled at him. "Since when are you in the habit of turning away girls that arrive at your door in the middle of the night?"

"Well, never, but…." She raised her eyebrow. He caved. "What are you waiting for?"

He got back under the sheets but Rahne sat down on the end of the bed, knees pulled up to her chin, facing him. "So what do you think of Ullapool?" she asked.

"Everybody was… uh… interested," he said, surprisingly diplomatically for him – nobody had been able to stop staring at the strange foreign boy staying with the Sinclairs.

"Well, they've never seen a real live Brazilian before," Rahne told him. "Too bad their first example had to be such a poor specimen…."

"Hey!" he threw one of the pillows at her. She laughed and tossed it back at him, but then sobered up as she remembered the distrustful looks that some of villagers had given the intruder, and her because of her association with the outsider. Roberto noticed her sudden change of mood. "You don't like having to live back here, do you?"

"I…," she began, but stopped, unsure of what she wanted to say. "I don't know. I love my parents and I love the land around here, but I'm just not sure about the people. I guess I'm afraid of what might happen."

"Have you told your parents? You could always move back to the Institute."

She shook her head. "They're still convinced that they can keep me safe here. My father's been here all his life, they don't want to believe that the place could be dangerous. And they don't know everything – I can't tell them…," she broke off.

"Can't tell them what?" he asked.

And so, haltingly, Rahne told him about the sheep deaths. It was a huge relief to finally be able to tell someone about the worries that had been weighing on her for the past month. "…And the worst thing is I don't know," she concluded. "Sometimes I go out and nothing seems to happen, other times bodies turn up even when I don't think I've been out – but I don't always remember going home, and what… what if I don't even remember leaving the house? What if… what if I'm turning into some kind of wild animal, Berto?"

He looked directly at her, dark brown eyes shining even in the half-dark. "Of course you're not, Wolfie." Lifting up the bedcovers, he patted the space beside him. "Come on, it must be freezing out there…."

"Are you trying to entice an innocent young girl into your bed?" she asked, but got in anyway.

"You betcha," he replied, winking. "They always come as well." But he wrapped his arms around her, and it did feel nice to be held like that. "It's okay. Of course it's not you that's doing these killings."

"But how do you know for sure?" she asked, uncertainly.

"I know you." She smiled hesitantly, flattered by his confidence in her, but far from convinced. "Anyway, to prove it I'll stay up and watch you all night, just to make sure you're not sneaking out without being aware of it."

"Well, okay," she said and snuggled against him, closing her eyes. "Roberto?" she asked suddenly.

"Mmm?"

"Why did… why are you here with me?" He smelled confused at that. "I mean, it's not like I'm beautiful, not like Amara, or Jean, or someone like that. You could do so much better."

"What do you mean? You're beautiful!"

She smiled wryly. "Nay I'm not. I'm pasty white, with freckles… And for my mutation, I don't turn into a living flame – I just get really really hairy." Those insecurities had been bugging her ever since she'd first fallen for him. He was just too gorgeous and charming to ever think twice about a short little red-haired girl from Northern Scotland. The looks that some of the female residents of Ullapool had cast her had only confirmed her anxieties.

"Hey, enough of that, Wolfie. You are beautiful – in whatever form you're in. Plus you're smart, and brave, and loyal, and even funny sometimes…."

"Wow, even funny sometimes? Watch out, I might get a big head…."

"No, I'm serious. I really like you. And I don't like having my judgement questioned like that…." He kissed the back of her head softly.

"Okay," she said sleepily. "Make sure I don't go on a mad killing rampage?"

"Anytime."

And so, curled up with the boy's comforting presence at her back Rahne fell into the first proper deep sleep she'd had since before she heard about the bodies on the moor. Her mother needn't have worried about her only daughter's virtue, apparently.

……

Waking up, she found herself face to face with Roberto. He was still asleep, and his face was free of any expression. He was so gorgeous, with his tawny skin and curly black hair. One arm was resting on top of the covers and she could see the well-defined muscles which he'd had even before he came to the Institute. He was…

…hang on! Her brain finally woke up and processed the half-awake observations that she'd been making. He was asleep! He'd fallen asleep some time in the night, which meant.…

"Wake up, Sunshine!" she said, frantically shaking him. He yawned slowly and stretched, then opened his eyes and looked at her.

"Now there's something every guy wants to see when he wakes up," he said, lips curving into a half-smile that almost distracted her all over again.

"You weren't supposed to be asleep!" she hissed back at him.

"Huh?" he asked blearily. "Were we supposed to be doing something else?" He looked almost hopeful about that and it was more than confirmed by his scent. Rahne almost blushed despite her worries, but then realisation dawned for the boy. "Oh… that. But you're still right here. I would have noticed if you'd gone…."

Her mood jumped up at that idea for a second, but then fell again. "Nay, you wouldn't have," she said. "In wolf-form I could lose Wolverine half the time in our sims." That was true, at least, and it wasn't reassuring. "You wouldn't have noticed a thing if I'd snuck out. I must have gone out and then come back, there's going to be more bodies up on the hills today.…"

He grasped her shoulders gently, interrupting this train of thought. "We don't know that you went anywhere. Look, later on we can find out whether bodies turn up – and if they don't we'll know you weren't out."

"That won't mean anything. Maybe they'll be in some kind of inaccessible place so no one will find them." At the back of her mind she was almost aware of the errors in her thought processes and the wild leaps and assumptions she was making, but somehow the message wasn't getting through to the rest of her and the anxiety was mounting again.

"It will all be okay, Wolfie. It will." She spontaneously hugged him tightly, as if physical proximity could make the assurance come true.


	10. Accusation

"So that guy last week was your boy from America, then?" Jess asked. Roberto had left to go back to the Institute and so Claire and Jess had dragged a protesting Rahne out to the village pub, ostensibly for lunch, but in actual fact, as all three were quite aware, with the purpose of getting the complete story of the Brazilian's visit.

"Um… aye, he was at the school with me," Rahne replied. In truth she really didn't feel like talking about Roberto. She preferred the idea of not having to dwell on the fact that he was gone.

"What a cutie!" gushed Jess. "With those bonnie brown eyes! I still canna believe that ye met a hot Brazilian, Rahney!"

"Well, uh… aye, I did," said Rahne. She wasn't quite sure what she could say to that.

"So, does he…." But Jess never got to finish her next question, because at that point the girls were interrupted by the dramatic entrance of Murray Crawford and his father, both looking extremely irate.

They strode over to the corner table where the three girls were sitting, drawing the stares of all the patrons of the small establishment.

"Demon!"

The word rang out across the room, causing all conversation to cease as if some bored deity had decided to suddenly push the mute button. For a couple of seconds Rahne was too stunned to think or do anything except try and burrow into the back of the seat she was sitting on and wish to God that she had suddenly developed Kurt's ability to teleport. She was trapped between the other two girls, how was she going to get away? But then rationality kicked in and she realised that the accusing finger that Murray had raised along with the exclamation wasn't directed at her. It was pointing at Jess.

"What the…?" Jess began, but once again she was interrupted.

"Silence Demon!" ordered Mr Crawford. "We have discovered your sin!"

The whole pub seemed to have been brought to a standstill while everybody frantically tried to process what was going on. As far as everyone had known Jess and Murray had been an item, despite the interference of Mrs MacBride, not enemies. Had he discovered a secret or was something else happening here?

Finally the barman, Terry McGinnis spoke up. "Excuse me, Crawford," he said "But what in hell's going on?"

"The lass is a demon!" Crawford declared. "One of them mutants! She's stolen the claymore!" There was a collective gasp from the onlookers. Everyone present knew what the man was talking about, a famous sword dating back to the 11th century that was the Crawford family's pride and joy. It was kept in a special cabinet in a room that was deemed to important for anything more than display.

"No way!" exclaimed Jess. "I'm nae mutant! And I didna take yer stupid sword!"

"Liar!" retorted Murray. "Ye were bitter because I dumped ye, so ye decided ta steal the sword ta get back at me."

"Ye dumped me? That isna the way I remember it! Ye were pleading with me ta take ye back!" Jess got up and faced off against the Crawfords, who stared right back at her.

"Right, okay, we'd best all just calm down a wee smidgeon," said Terry. "Now, when everyone's settled again we'll start over and sort this out, all nice and quiet like, okay?" There were reluctant nods from both parties. "Right. Ye first, Crawford."

Mr Crawford took a deep breath, and began. "Well, as most of ye probably know, my boy Murray has been seeing this girl here for a while now." He paused. "Last week she tells him she's a mutant, that she can walk through walls like that lass on the tv." There were a number of surprised looks. "Well, as ye all know, we Crawfords are a good, god-fearing family, and of course my Murray does the virtuous thing and tells the demon he doesna want ta see her anymore.…" Jess gasped in indignation and glared at Murray, about to protest. "And then the demon gets all fired up like, and tells him… well, ye tell them what she said lad."

Murray, who was studiously avoiding Jess' accusing gaze, spoke up, somewhat hesitantly. "She said that I'd made a mistake, and that she'd make me pay for it.…"

"And then today I found the claymore missing," finished his father. "Murray and I are the only ones who can get in there – so it must have been a demon – one who could walk through walls…."

The pub was silent. No one knew what to say, or even what to think, especially Rahne. She desperately tried to force her brain to process the conversation. Was Jess a mutant? The possibility was slim, she decided. In any case, it would be better for her friend if she wasn't. But she could smell the emotional atmosphere of the people sitting there begin to change, from a kind of stunned astonishment to something with a nastier undertone. She nudged Claire, who had sat silent throughout the whole interchange, watching impassively. "We've got to do something!" Rahne hissed.

"What?" asked the blonde girl. "There isna a thing ye can do for a demon, Rahne."

"Jess isn't a demon! She's our friend!" Rahne pleaded desperately. "Come on Claire, you know that Murray's always trying to cause trouble.…"

"The Lord has a plan, Rahne," was the only reply she got.

Well, obviously Claire wasn't going to be any help. Perhaps her friend was right about God too – she had much more experience with religion than Rahne, whose grasp of religion pretty much amounted to a conviction that God existed and little else. Rahne was aware that interfering in this would only lead to suspicion being placed on her. She also knew that that was something she didn't need any more of, but still, Jess was her friend, and one of the most basic aspects of the wolf instincts was loyalty. She couldn't possibly stand by and watch someone close to her in danger. She stood up, and went to stand beside Jess. The room's attention wavered, and refocused on her.

"Come on, people," she began, taking a deep breath. "Both of them are saying they dumped the other – who should we believe?" As she found her measure, her voice picked up strength. "You've all known both these two all their lives. Have ye ever known Jess to lie? What about Murray?" there were some nods at that. The sandy-haired boy did not have a reputation for honesty around Ullapool. "Making up a story about Jess being a demon is a pretty low kind of revenge, but… would anyone put it past him?"

"But what about the claymore?" protested Mr Crawford. "How did that go missing?"

Rahne looked pointedly at Murray. "Ye said that you two are the only ones to have access to it, Mr Crawford?"

"What! I didna take it!" he protested. Rahne could smell the spike which invariably occurred when a person didn't tell the truth.

"You're lying, Murray Crawford," she said simply, but so that everyone could hear. The look of fear that washed over his face confirmed it for everyone.

"Is this true, Murray?" asked his father. The boy squirmed under the gaze, and looked in vain for a way out. "Don't lie ta your father, lad!" Mr Crawford said harshly. Murray nodded. His father frowned. "I apologise on behalf of my son for this fiasco," he said, addressing the room as a whole, rather than Jess. "We'll be going now, and believe me he will be punished for this…." He dragged the boy out the door.

Slowly, the pub began to fill with the comforting murmur of conversation again. There were a few furtive glances directed toward the girls, but no one said anything to them, which Rahne was hugely grateful for. She couldn't quite trust her voice.

She and Jess were both shaking slightly as they sat back down. "Thanks, Rah," said the dark-haired girl. "Ye saved my arse there! I thought they were going ta lynch me our something." Claire refused to meet Rahne's gaze at that. "Ye were so cool and calm though…," Jess went on.

Rahne smiled wryly. "Cool and calm definitely does not describe how I'm feeling right now," she said, deliberately making her tone overly light. "In fact, I think I'm going to have to go to the toilet, or something really terrible will happen in a moment." Jess laughed, only slightly hysterically.

Rahne managed to make it into one of the stalls and shut the door, before her self control gave way. She sank down onto the seat, trying to control her pounding heart and ragged breathing. What if that had been her facing that subtle current of fear and hatred from the crowd?

"Definitely a strange one," she heard a voice agree, as the main door swung open. She drew her knees up to her chin and transformed just enough to be able to make out every word without straining. Two women had walked into the bathroom. They were discussing someone. She assumed that it must be Jess, after the events in the bar.

"Apparently she started acting strange last year, before her parents sent her away," said the second voice. "Got all distant with people, was spacing out, and all jumpy."

"And she just suddenly came back here?" asked the first voice.

"Aye. Nae explanation, just one day, she was back. And even odder than before…,"

"Jamie told me that she that she healed far too quickly," the first voice said, in a conspiratorial whisper. "After that football game – she got injured, and then a few days later, she was absolutely fine…." Suddenly it dawned on Rahne who they were talking about, and it wasn't Jess.

"That's true – and ye know, I've never once known her ta be sick. And then, sometimes she seems ta know what ye're thinking without ye saying it – did ye see her accuse Murray today?" Rahne silently cursed her own stupidity in how she dealt with the situation.

"Aye, I did. That was uncanny… it was like she could read his mind or something.…"

"I ken. And did ye see that guy who was staying with her last week? There's nae way that that girl could pull a guy like him without some kind of witchcraft, I'm telling ye…." Rahne felt her anger mount and her cheeks burn. Roberto did like her, didn't he? He'd said so!

"I know! That lad was totally fit! And she's…." The voices trailed off into laughter, and their footsteps grew quieter as they walked out the door again.

Rahne stayed sitting in the once-again silent room. She only just remembered to shift back into her human form before exiting. The conversation was replaying itself over and over again in her head, worrying her immensely. She was already labelled as strange – even glimpses of the latent parts of her mutations were causing her to fall under suspicion. What would people do if they had any glimmer of an idea about her shape-shifting?


	11. Hunt

"Craig's been around," remarked Mrs Sinclair at lunch the next day. "He says the sheep attacks have gone on long enough, and it's time to put a stop to it." Rahne paused in the midst of raising a spoonful of soup to her mouth. What was the minister planning?

"Put a stop ta it?" queried Rahne's father. "And just how does he plan ta do that?"

"I'm not sure, Ian," she replied. "He said he wants the whole village out tonight, and it will be settled once and for all."

"This canna be good," grumbled Mr Sinclair. "Still, looks like we'll have ta make an appearance, then." Rahne's soup resumed its journey toward her mouth, but with a lack of urgency. The idea of Reverend Craig planning to settle the question of the sheep bodies made her feel distinctly not like eating. Did he want the whole village there for protection from the demon, or for a public denouncement of someone? Of her?

……

When the Sinclairs arrived at the church that evening a large proportion of the community was already gathered there, awaiting the Reverend's instructions. Claire came bounding up to Rahne, looking excited.

"Oh ye made it!" she exclaimed. "I was starting ta wonder where ye'd go ta."

"Aye, I'm here," said Rahne, noncommittally. She still wasn't sure what had happened to Claire in the pub, and she had no idea how she was supposed to act.

"I'm going ta be mighty glad when this is all over with," Claire continued. "Da's been a right pain over the last few weeks, very stressed out about everything." Rahne nodded, but said nothing. Claire paused for a second, looking at her intently. "Look, Rah, about that thing with Jess yesterday… ye did well – that Murray's a sneaky bastard. I'm… I… I just canna get involved in that kinda business, ye ken? Not with my da…." She smelled mostly sincere, but there was something she was holding back. Rahne noticed that her friend hadn't actually apologised, or said that she was wrong about what she did.

But nevertheless, she was Rahne's best friend, and despite her father, she'd always been open-minded about almost everything apart from mutants. "That's okay, Claire," she said. "I understand. And you know, whatever you do, you're still my friend, right?"

"Thanks, hon," Claire replied. They turned to go and join the still assembling group outside the church. As they walked, Rahne desperately tried to block out the annoying, nagging thought that kept turning over in her head – everything apart from mutants…. Somehow Rahne knew that it was doubtful that the minister's daughter would still consider her a friend no matter what she did.

Reverend Craig's plan was straightforward: the whole village would go out, all together, and apprehend the demon in the act of killing, or whatever fiendish thing it was up to this time. Rahne heard her father mutter that it had a snowball's chance of succeeding, but he, along with everybody else joined in the hunt. And it really was a hunt, even without flaming torches. The Reverend had definitely studied the role of crazed fanatic.

And so the whole village trudged out onto the moors. There was a kind of strange excitement pervading most of the community – this seemed like some kind of expedition, an evening's outing for all the family. It was too difficult to think of it as a search for some kind of evil being. For Rahne, though, it was all too real. She watched silently as people she'd known all her life laughed and joked about catching a demon – and she could all too easily imagine those jokes being about her.

Claire was also not treating this as an excursion. She was up in the front of the group, one of the people who were actively searching out the demon. Rahne trailed behind her, with a rather depressing conviction that they were going to find absolutely nothing while she was part of the group.

In actual fact, she was wrong about that. A sound came from out to the left of the group, something between a growl and a whine. "What was that?" Claire demanded, and began to stride forward to investigate.

"Claire, wait," Rahne called, but it was too late, the girl had pushed ahead, trying to uncover the source of the noise. Her call had also caught the attention of the rest of the villagers who were heading over, keen to have the demon's identity revealed. The growling continued as the blonde girl walked in the direction from which it was coming. Rahne followed her, still trying to keep her friend out of trouble. But it was too late. The growl deepened, and then Rahne heard a sound which she recognised as that of something preparing to leap. From out of the shadows of the area not illuminated by the torches and flashlights a shape appeared, springing directly at Claire's throat.

For a split second Rahne stopped to think. Revealing her abilities in front of a crowd of people who had gone out to find a demon was probably the most suicidal idea she could have had. But this was Claire, her best friend. And then she stopped thinking and leapt at the shape. She transformed midway through the leap, hitting it with her forepaws and driving it away from the girl. It twisted under her grasp, trying to find some way to break its fall. But Wolfsbane had too much momentum and it hit the ground with the sickening crunch that indicates a broken neck.

Wolfsbane stared down at the body below her without processing any of the information that was assailing her senses – smells and sounds and sights merged and mingled and bypassed consciousness. An almost total silence had settled on the moors – if she'd wanted to she could have made out the calls of owls miles away from her. Instead she slowly transformed again, concentrating on the concrete feelings of the changes in her bones, the rush of cold that indicated the retreat of fur and the dulling of perceptions that came with her human body. But then it was over, and she was back to facing the accusing stares. She rose to her feet slowly, but got no further.

Nobody spoke for what seemed like an eternity. Then finally the word she'd been expecting came again, like the crack of a whip. "Demon!" It was Reverend Craig of course. "What have ye done, ye spawn of Satan?" But sharper than the cut of the words was the press of silent glances fixed on her, surprise and fear and horror competing in multiple scents.

Rahne opened her mouth to speak, but wilted under the gaze of the entire community, which had taken on a disturbingly focussed attention. Her senses heightened by fear, she could pick out the sounds of individuals breathing interspersed with the muted crash of waves upon distant cliffs. The corpse at her feet had its own array of scents clamouring for attention. Her lupine instincts were telling her to run, to get away from the situation, to flee….

"Wait!" rang out a voice from the crowd. It was her father, pushing his way through to the front of the crowd, her mother at his side. "What my daughter has done," he said slowly and clearly, each word being nearly swallowed up by the silence of the crowd, "is get rid of a thing which has been destroying our livestock for months." He gestured toward the corpse which was still lying on the ground. "Have a look for yourselves… its mouth is covered with blood… And MacLennaghan?" The old farmer reluctantly came forward, pushed by someone near him. "Would ye say that looks a bit like the dog that went missing from your place a while back?" A short nod. In the silence that followed Rahne became painfully aware of the rapid thumping of her own heartbeat. "There's your demon, Craig. A farm dog gone wild, not a teenage girl…."

"A teenage girl?" spat the Reverend. "Are ye trying to deny the evidence that the Lord has laid before our eyes? That is nae girl ye're protecting Sinclair; it's a demon – a werewolf that has been hiding among us for the last fifteen years…" There were angry rumblings from the crowd as they processed this information. Eyes and teeth reflected the glow from the flashlights and in the overpowering scents, the sharp odour of anger spiked. Rahne shrank back against her parents, who placed themselves protectively between her and the crowd.

"A werewolf, Reverend?" her mother spoke up. "Last time I checked it wasn't full moon tonight…" And sure enough, there was only a pale sickle shape riding above the clouds. "Our daughter is no demon, as all of you should be able to realise, you've known her all her life. Yes she is a mutant, but all that means is that she has an extra gene which makes her somewhat different – she is still a human, just like you or I!" There were some in the crowd that seemed to be on the verge of agreeing with this statement, but then the Reverend spoke again, his words fast and venomous.

"Do nae listen ta the harbourers of evil! They want ye ta believe that ye are safe, that the devil is not a threat. They will try ta lull ye into complacency so that the child can strike when ye dinna expect! This, this thing…," he refused to name, or even look directly at Rahne, "is not like ye or I – she exists purely ta serve the evil plans of her master – it is likely that she drove this poor, innocent and faithful dog," he was indicating the body lying before them "ta madness ta cover her misdemeanours…."

The words stirred the mood of the community once again. Fear and confusion were rising off the crowd in waves, assailing her nose in turn and in tandem. And again she could smell the beginnings of anger arising from the mass. There were shifts of suppressed movement, flickering in the half light thrown by the flashlights. The crowd was beginning to turn into a mob.

But there was some kind of motion from one side of the crowd. Someone broke away to stand facing Reverend Craig, shaking off someone who had been trying to hold them back. A lone figure, with a distinctive shock of tangled dark hair. Tony MacLeod. "How can ye be saying this?" he asked, shaking slightly. Anger ruled his scent too, but at least his didn't seem to be directed at her. "Rahne just saved ye daughter's life from that beast! That isna evil!"

Rahne looked at Claire for the first time since she'd leapt at the dog. Her friend was sitting on the ground beside her father, completely silent – she appeared to be in some sort of shock. She met Rahne's eyes briefly, but looked away guiltily rather than deal with her friend's pleading look. Rahne sank back, defeated. She had known that Claire would do nothing to cross her father, but she had still had a faint hope… She turned her attention back to the Reverend, and Tony.

"Ye are young," the Reverend was saying to the boy. "Ye still have a trusting heart. But ye must learn that evil takes on many disguises. I will choose ta believe that ye are merely misguided and that there is hope for ye yet. But ye will not argue with one of the Lord's appointed again." Tony looked like he wanted to keep on protesting, but his family got hold of him again, and dragged him back into the anonymous depths of the crowd. The disturbance dealt with, the minister once again faced the Sinclair family, an expression of disturbing serenity fixed on his features. "Ye however, have knowingly harboured a devil in our god-fearing community for the last fifteen years. That canna be simply excused as misguided. Ye are tainted with the evil of this demon, and ye will be punished accordingly. But first we must go right ta the heart of the problem." He paused, menacingly and in the heartbeat's space between his words Rahne was curiously aware of the barking of a dog far off on one of the hills. "Eradicate the devil spawn which has defiled our community," he ordered.

Most of the crowd began to push forward, searching for Rahne with all the implacable force of a tidal wave. Standing against the rush, twin pillars of steadfast resolution, her parents placed themselves between the mob and their daughter. "Run lass!" her father ordered. "Get away from here, we'll be okay!" Her mother nodded, pushing her away from the crowd.

"We love you darling," she said. "But you have to run!" And so Rahne ran from the advancing press of people, once again slipping into her wolf form mid-stride. She looked back once to see the crowd converging on her path and then put her head down and ran.

* * *

**_NB: _**_And here we have the stirring ringing climax…no, don't worry – there's still much more to come! Speaking conversationally – my, isn't the Reverend a nasty man?_


	12. Flight

The initial mad headlong rush soon died out and was replaced by a more patient and ordered pace as the chase turned into a hunt. For a time Wolfsbane could hear the rhythmic thudding of her pursuers' feet behind her as she fled, running without any destination in mind, focussing simply on where she was putting her feet and the next few yards ahead. Her normal thought processes had surrendered to instinct when she'd begun her flight and her only notion for a long while was to put as much distance between herself and her pursuers.

In lupine form, Wolfsbane had far more speed and stamina than a human, and she soon began to outpace the hunters. Gradually the sounds of pursuit grew more and more distant, and as the immediate danger lessened, thoughts began to creep back into the werewolf's mind. She slowed and stopped to assess the situation.

Her flight had taken her across the tops of the moors above the town, heading inland. She'd instinctively headed downwind, which meant that she had another advantage over the pursuit in being able to detect their scent before they arrived. She sat down on her haunches and cocked her ears for sounds of pursuit, their distinctive shape allowing the wolf to triangulate position more accurately than any human would have been able to. It sounded as though only a dedicated few had continued the chase this far - the rest must have turned back earlier. The remaining hunters were approximately a mile behind her, but they seemed to have lost her trail. As she listened, they seemed to come to the conclusion that even with flashlights, pursuing a demon through a night which had become almost pitch black was not their idea of a rewarding experience. The footsteps started up again, but this time they grew fainter and fainter as they led back to the town.

Wolfsbane remained where she was for a moment, debating whether to shift back to human form to allow herself to think more easily. A sudden blast of icy highland wind made her decision for her – a wolf would find it much easier to survive on the exposed moors than a teenage girl, and she wasn't quite willing to surrender her lupine hearing and night vision when stuck out here alone. So the question was: what now?

She knew that she couldn't return to her home, of course. That would simply be putting not only herself, but the adults of her pack, her parents, in danger. But the wolf couldn't quite bring herself to accept the obvious – she would have to leave her territory. She could feel the anxiety begin to rise inside her as she contemplated leaving what had been her home for her entire life – home was tightly wired in her lupine brain as safety and security, and now that had all been ripped away. Now she needed to find a new home…

However, there was another place which the wolf had learnt to associate with comfort and safety – another pack to provide security and protection: the Institute. She had to find some way of contacting them – all she needed to do was get to a telephone and she could reach them. She set off again across the moors, trusting her nose to find her some kind of habitation that would have a telephone.

But the habits and instincts of a lifetime cannot be overridden with such a simple decision. Wolfsbane found that instead of heading directly inland and away from Ullapool she was following a more southward path which had her circling the hills around it, so that she was still in her own territory, overlooking the place that was indelibly linked in her mind as 'home'. With an extreme act of will power, she decided to force herself to head east, and away from the place one and for all. But she had to take one last look at 'home'.

At first glance the town seemed utterly unchanged on the surface, despite the fundamental overhauling of so many of its preconceptions and values that had taken place that night. The rows of granite houses appeared just as they always had, implacable and unchanging no matter what went on amongst their ephemeral inhabitants. But then Wolfsbane noticed an infrared glow coming from one of them – the signature of immense heat. Another gust of wind from the west reached her sensitive nose and she detected the unmistakeable odour of smoke. Completely forgetting about her plan to contact the Institute, she set off again – back toward the town.

A small part of her refused to accept the suspicion that had arisen, and was begging her to investigate, to know for sure. And so soon she was back at the outskirts of the town where the houses started. Stealthily and silently, she moved through the streets. But her efforts were almost unnecessary – there appeared to be no one around on the streets or in the houses. However, as she gradually approached her target, the fire that was still burning in one of the houses, she began to hear the noises of a crowd, and catch some scent of people through the overpowering reek of ash and smoke.

The traces that reached her held a glimpse into the emotional state of the people gathered there. The diffuse and somehow almost salty taste of excitement and expectation was interspersed with the sharper, spiky scent of anger. Sometimes she caught a whiff of a rich, almost golden aroma – something akin to pleasure or exhilaration – but underlying all of these was the cold and brittle scent of chronic fear.

Her suspicions were confirmed long before she reached the street where what had once been her house was burning, but for some reason Wolfsbane was drawn on inexorably toward the crowd which was gathering outside it. Unnoticed by the crowd, who were completely focussed on the blazing building and the man standing in front of it, she changed into a transitional state and crouched behind the fence of one of the neighbouring houses.

"We have let this demon get away tonight," the man, who she now recognised as the Reverend, was saying. "We have been unable ta completely eradicate this evil from the world. But we will eradicate all traces of it from our community and we have done well ta start this tonight!" there were some cheers at this. "The insidious nature of this evil is known ta me – it can only be removed by the cleansing scourge of flame." Rahne caught traces of the twin brassy scents of confusion and anxiety from some members of the crowd at this. The Minister seemed to notice something too, and increased the pitch of his voice and its tone of certainty, as if to convince the waverers. "The Lord is pleased that we have purified this house that was so utterly tainted by the malevolent presence of this devil, and we have done His will by punishing those who harboured and protected the demonic creature!" Rahne choked back a gasp. What had they done to her parents? "Tonight we have finally set them free of this scourge of evil which took over their lives - the evil had infected those two so deeply that only fire could remove all its traces from them!"

A gamut of emotions flooded through the wolf-girl as she realised what he meant. Her parents had been in the house – they were dead now. Horror, disbelief, and grief rushed successively through her mind, but they were all quickly replaced by a single burning rage. There was only one thought that remained in Wolfsbane's head, and that was to kill the man who had done this.

This time there was no Sam, Roberto and Ray to restrain her. Still in her transitional state she leapt straight for Reverend Craig. Her claws raked down the side of the minister's face as she drove him to the ground, landing hard on the packed earth that had only recently been a carefully tended garden. She was stronger in this form, and she retained most of the characteristics of a wolf. Which meant that her jaws were easily powerful enough to tear out a human throat. And that was exactly what she intended to do.

However, despite their fear and dislike of the minister, the villagers were not about to let him be killed by a demon. Two pairs of hands gripped her shoulders, pulling her off the quaking man. Snarling, the wolf-girl whipped around to face them. The scents identified them as familiar, but she couldn't place their names and didn't care – they were merely a distraction which had to be dealt with before she could complete her goal.

When they went to seize her again she reacted quickly, swatting one away with a sweep of her paw and knocking him to the ground. The other managed to get a hand to her arm but she twisted, grabbing his elbow and wrist and snapping the bones cleanly in two. He staggered backwards, cradling his arm against his body, eyes wide in fear and disbelief.

Wolfsbane turned her attention back to the minister, who was still lying on the ground.

Kill, tear, rip, punish – the litany pounded through her head over and over again. She was beyond any kind of rationality - this was bloodlust. But once again, before she could reach the man to exact her revenge she was borne down to the ground by a press of people. The sheer weight of numbers was too much even for her werewolf strength, and the mob had her completed surrounded. There would be no escape this time.

"The demon has shown its true face!" called the strident ringing tones of Reverend Craig, his composure recovered and a new satisfied note of triumph added into his scent. "It is an inhuman creature that knows only violence. We are right to rid the world of such a bestial, dangerous menace! It must be destroyed by the cleansing power of the Lord's flame… but first – let it know that whatever harms it causes will be repaid tenfold!"

At his words the mob let out a roar of approval, and then the first fist descended, connecting with the wolf-girl's face. More followed, fists, feet, whatever the crowd could find. Wolfsbane raised her arms, trying vainly to shield herself from the blows that would not cease. As the barrage continued, she sank to her knees, losing control of the transformation and shifting back into her purely human form. The mob seemed not to notice that the demon they were punishing had turned into a small and defenceless teenage girl; the beating continued, punches raining down, thudding remorselessly into her flesh. Slowly Rahne felt her consciousness fade away…

****


	13. Confrontation

When Rahne came to she found herself upright, which surprised her momentarily. On attempting to move she found that she'd been bound against a large post. Sturdy ropes were digging into her wrists and ankles and cutting across her chest, making it impossible to draw a deep breath. A few seconds passed while she tried to piece together what was happening, why she was tied up – then the bruises and cuts covering her body began to smart and ache and the memories of the beating came flooding back. And following that the events that had led to it – the hunt, and the fire, and… her parents. She fought back the urge to howl her pain and sorrow to the unheeding sky.

She had been placed in the village square, facing the entrance to the pub. But apart from a few onlookers on the opposite side of the square, she had been left alone. Rahne wondered where everyone else had gone, and what they were planning to do with her. Had they brought her here to continue the beating more formally – to have her publicly flogged and left tied up as an example of evil?

Her answer came all too quickly. People began trickling back into the square, each carrying something in their arms. She had no idea what it was they were holding until they started filing past. Each person walked quickly, avoiding looking at the bruised and bound teenage girl as they dropped off their load at her feet. Looking down, Rahne realised to her horror that the villagers were building a pyre around her. She was going to be burned at the stake.

She struggled against the ropes lashing her to the post, but they had been tied too firmly for her to break in human form. In vain, she tried to change into her transitional form, in which she should have been easily able to burst the knots, but the beating had left her too weakened to carry out the transformation. She was not going to be able to escape from this.

So this was God, Rahne thought bitterly, watching as the wood was stacked about her feet. The same God she'd believed in unquestioningly, all her life. The God who was supposed to save people's souls, who was just going to let her burn to death. The God who had let her parents… her mind shied away from that thought, unwilling or unable to process it at the moment.

Within a couple of minutes, the pyre was complete. The last person shuffled up and dropped their load of wood against her feet. There was an unmistakeable sharp and bluish smell of guilt rising from them, almost but not quite overpowered by the clammy scent of fear. Looking closer she realised that she recognised them. "Mr Fraser?" she asked, her voice barely more than a hoarse whisper.

The elderly shopkeeper avoided meeting her eyes. "I'm sorry lass," he said.

"But, you know me, Mr Fraser – I'm not a demon!" she pleaded desperately. He finally looked up at her face, eyes and scent filled with uncertainty.

"Enough of your tricks, demon!" the harsh, assured tones of the Reverend resounded. "Ye have played on the pity and compassion of our weaker villagers for too long! Do not be taken in by the guise the demon has chosen ta take now, Fraser, it merely seeks ta fool ye into believing it a weak and helpless child. Did it not show its true form and nature earlier when it attacked myself and two other virtuous members of this community?" his voice boomed out across the square, allowing everyone to hear, and this comment drew nods from all, with varying degrees of reluctance. "It may have taken the form of a teenage girl, Mr Fraser, but we have all witnessed the reality – it is a wild beast, a vessel of evil, as it showed by attacking us without provocation."

"Without provocation?" Rahne choked out, fury overcoming her pain for a split second. "You killed my parents!" she screamed at the hateful man who was standing there calmly with his unbreakable assurance of his righteousness.

"Silence, demon!" he bellowed. "It is not for ye ta judge the actions of the Lord's chosen! Ye are nothing more than a pawn of Satan, and tonight we shall rid our community of the taint that ye have spread on it! Ye will burn in the cleansing flame so that ye may return ta the flames of Hell where ye belong!" Some members of the crowd cheered at this. "The torch, Crawford!"

But as Mr Crawford came forward, bearing a lighted torch another voice sounded in the crowded square which had become deadly silent in anticipation of the burning. "Now wait just a minute," it said, in a tone that sounded almost absurdly conversational to Rahne. The crowd, if anything, became more silent, and parted fluidly down the middle to reveal three figures. The shortest one, in the centre, appeared to be the speaker, and was flanked by two taller figures that seemed to be acting almost like a bodyguard. The trio walked through the divided crowd, approaching the Minister.

As they neared Rahne realised that it was Moira MacTaggert. Rahne had never seen her companions, a sandy-haired middle-aged man and a blonde girl who looked about her own age, before, but each had adopted an almost protective stance beside the diminuitive red-haired woman. "And what exactly would be going on here?" asked Moira.

"This is no concern of yours, MacTaggert," hissed Reverend Craig. "This is the Lord's work, not your heretical blasphemy!"

"Well, I'll admit to knowing little about the workings of the Church, Reverend," the woman replied calmly, "but I had thought that the Christian ethic did not extend to burning innocents." A few members of the crowd shifted uneasily at that, but the Minister was unswayed.

"That is no innocent!" he cried, pointing at Rahne. "It has exposed itself as a demon, and as such it is completely within the Church's rights ta burn it!"

"I very much doubt that Rahne Sinclair is an agent of the devil," Moira replied. "But in actual fact, that wasn't what I was referring to. I was talking about the murders of Ian and Jenny Sinclair that were committed tonight." Now even more of the crowd were looking uncomfortable, Rahne noticed. Reverend Craig had been very careful not to use her parent's names when referring to them, but the scientist's words were making their victims all too human and real, bringing the unpleasant facts back to the surface of the crowd's minds.

"An unfortunate necessity," the Reverend stated. "But the evil had touched them too deeply and the cleansing fire was required ta purify their souls, setting them free." But somehow his voice, though still strident, seemed to have lost its aura of righteous surety. "They too had become creatures of the Devil."

Moira merely raised and eyebrow. She turned away from the Minister, instead addressing the villagers who were milling uncertainly. "Creatures of the Devil?" she asked. "Do any of you truly believe that the Sinclairs were Satan's minions? They were your workmates, your friends, your neighbours. I know some of you must have known Ian for over 40 years – I think you all know, deep in your hearts, that they were just people, and innocent." Rahne smelled a sudden wave of intense guilt emanating from the crowd.

But Reverend Craig wasn't giving up the battle for their hearts and minds yet. "The fact still remains that the girl is not a person – ye all saw her transform into a wild beast – she is assuredly an agent of Satan!"

"She is a teenage girl!" Moira retorted sharply. "Rahne Sinclair is as human as you or I, and genetic testing will assuredly prove it! However, like my two companions here, she possesses an extra gene which has given her different characteristics – just as some of you possess the gene that enables you to roll your tongue, and some of you do not. The X-gene is a matter of science and hereditary, not forces of good and evil. You would do best, in future, to remember that," she told the villagers.

"It was him!" a voice from the back cried. "He forced us to do it!"

"Really?" she asked. "I fail to see your esteemed Reverend holding any sort of gun to your head, Mr MacLachlan." Rahne thought she heard a surprised intake of breath – the shouter obviously hadn't thought he was identifiable. "Oh yes, Mr Mac Lachlan, I'm quite aware of who you are," said Moira. "I know each of your names and faces – Miss Little, Mr Crawford, yes, you too." The villagers shifted uncomfortably, avoiding each others eyes. "It's harder to face when you're not a faceless part of a mob, isn't it?" Moira continued. "Just like it's easier to blame your actions on the ravings of a deranged Minister. But you'd all do well to remember that the reason that the Sinclairs are dead is because all of you let it happen – in fact you took part in it – you had your choice, and each of you made it." The villagers were studiously trying to avoid each others eyes. "Yes, even you, Mr Fraser," she said. "And now you've got to live with it."

"I will not countenance this!" protested the Reverend.

"It doesn't look like ye have a choice," Moira's male companion told him. "I doubt that yer going t'have any influence over these here people any longer, Father." At least one good thing had come from the night then, Rahne thought bitterly.

"And now I believe we'll be taking Rahne home with us," Moira said. "Please don't try to stop us; Sean and Teresa are really not people that you want to tangle with. They are not a scared and exhausted teenage girl who you outnumber forty-to-one." In fact no one seemed at all keen to protest that anyway. Rahne presumed that no one relished the idea of having to deal with her – a walking reminder of their crimes would have been too much to cope with.

"Up t' ye, Siryn," said the man, nodding at the girl who was standing on the other side of Moira. She walked over to the pyre surrounding Rahne. Opening her mouth, she let out the most strangely intense scream that Rahne had ever heard. The ropes around her ankles shattered. The girl let out another burst of sound and her wrists were free. One more pulse from the sonic lance and the ropes around her chest disintegrated. Suddenly unsupported, Rahne found that she could not manage to hold herself up, and she collapsed forward, crumpling at the knees. Strong hands kept her from hitting the ground, and she found herself cradled in the arms of the man – had Moira called him Sean? Then for the second time that night she lapsed into unconsciousness.

……

She woke to find herself inside some kind of aircraft. Moira was sitting beside her, attempting to rinse away some of the blood that was caked on her face, the other two were seated at the controls.

"Where are we going?" asked Rahne, without really wanting to know the answer – it was enough that it was away from Ullapool, and all its associated memories.

"Muir Island. You'll be safe there, darling," said Moira.

'Darling'. That was what her mother had called her. Suddenly the reality hit Rahne in its entirety. Her parents were gone forever – she would never see them again, and it was because of her. The guilt and grief were threatening to overwhelm her mind – it was too much to deal with at the moment. But an alternative way beckoned to her. As a wolf, she didn't need to think, the pain would deal with itself. Summoning up every last bit of her strength, Rahne forced herself to transform into her lupine state. As Wolfsbane, the grief was still there, but now she could cope – she was free of the encumbrance of complex thoughts and self-doubt and recrimination, and she could mourn her parents properly. She howled.

* * *

**_NB: _**_More entrances from canon characters here: Sean Cassidy (Banshee), an Irishman with a range of sonic powers, and his daughter, Teresa O'Rourke (Siryn) who inherited very similar abilities. Once again, there are some different my version and comic canon, but well, you know the drill by now._

_And there we have it – the big climax in three chapters is done! But wait… there's still more. Lots, lots more…_


	14. Escape

Time passed. Wolfsbane wasn't sure how much, and she didn't care. Her world revolved around regular feedings and patrolling the barren moors of Muir Island. She was aware that there were a number of people that lived there that she'd learned to identify, and occasionally she had a vaguely nagging feeling that there was something important about them, but it usually faded. After all, she was a wolf – why would people be important? Mostly, it was easy to ignore them.

Today though, two of them were standing outside the room which was serving as her lair. She recognised them as the alpha-female, the short one with red hair, and the one who was pack leader, the large sandy one who was usually absent. They were having a conversation; quietly, but not too quietly for the super-sensitive ears of the wolf.

"She's been like this for nearly three weeks," said the female. The words meant next to nothing to Wolfsbane, but the tone was concerned. "At first I thought it was a good thing – she heals faster in this form, and it seemed to help her deal with the grief, but now…."  
"What?" asked the male. "She seems t' be well, Moira, and reasonably cheery."

"She also appears to be a wolf, Sean, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Well, it doesn't appear t' be doing her any harm…."

"She isn't responding to human contact anymore," the woman replied, her voice sounding almost frantic. "She barely acknowledges me when I'm there."

"Maybe that's her way o' dealing with what's happened."

"But that's the thing, Sean – she isn't dealing with it. The wolf form made it easier to cope with the emotional aspects of grieving, but it's allowed her to avoid the other part of the process – dealing rationally with what happened to her. The way I understand it, the wolf form to some extent replaces reason with instinct – so that one never has to think about anything."

"Sounds good t' me. Where's the problem?"

"Men!" there was exasperation in that word, but also an obvious underlying affection. "The problem is that she's getting worse. At the start you could tell that Rahne was in there somewhere, inside the wolf. But the instincts are taking over, and now I'm if she's still there, she's locked herself away so tightly that she might as well be gone – it may only be Wolfsbane in there now, not Rahne."

With that they stopped talking for a while, leaving Wolfsbane to consider the pair. The male was often away from the island, but she could tell that he was a natural leader – his large stature merely reinforced the self-assured posture and confident manner that was a part of him.

The woman was less obvious about her position, but Wolfsbane had noticed that although she was always warm toward the other people she would not tolerate being either disobeyed or pandered to. She was the one that spent the most time around Wolfsbane, bringing her food and had occasionally inspecting the state of her injuries. She always talked to the wolf, and sometimes appeared to be expecting an answer. Wolfsbane sometimes had an urge to do something at these times, but she wasn't sure what, exactly. It was especially strong when the woman used that word, the one that she always seemed to be addressing her with – Rahne. Hearing it stirred some kind of feeling in the wolf, a mixture of familiarity and distress that she both welcomed and dreaded. There was something important in it, but she had no idea what – she had begun to try to ignore it, in the hope of resolving the anxiety.

"Does Charles know about this?" the male asked eventually. "He should be able t' work his thought trick stuff on the girl, naw? Talk to her, get her back in the land o' reason? Wasn't there that little girl in a coma because of her powers that he helped a few years back?"

"Jean was rather a different case," said the female. "I've had Betsy in a couple of times to try and get in touch with Rahne, but she hasn't had any luck. At the beginning she said she could sense something that was listening, but not responding, but she can't find it anymore. She said today that she might as well try telepathy on her mother's pet cat…."

There had been another visitor today, Wolfsbane remembered. A younger female, who turned up now and then on the island and sometimes tried to get close to her. The wolf had been wary of the unfamiliar person intruding on her territory and had acted defensively, snarling and raising her hackles. Eventually the intruder had gone away again. Satisfied that she had driven off the intruder, she'd paid it little more attention.

"…She thinks it might be possible that Charles would be able to reach her – he's stronger, and is more familiar with her, but I remember him telling me that they've always had trouble communicating telepathically with Rahne when she was in wolf form – her lupine mind is structured quite differently."

"So why isn't Old Shiny over here trying to sort this out? I'd ha' thought he'd be rushing over t' help if he thought one o' his students was in trouble."

"They've had a lot to deal with back in Bayville, from what I can gather. Something to do with SHIELD and Logan and a break-in and now there's some kind of immensely powerful mutant that they are trying to contain. Charles is just too busy to take the time away for a trip across the Atlantic for a non-emergency…."

"Auch, like he was too busy t' prevent the girl's parents from taking her back here. He must ha' known what she was heading back to, and he let her go…," the male's tone sounded disapproving, as though censuring a misbehaving member of the pack.

"He tried to tell them, but Rahne was their daughter – he couldn't force them to let her stay. They believed they could protect her better if she was with them."

The man snorted sadly. "They were fools then. I would ha' thought Ian Sinclair knew better than t' try and keep his daughter's secret from that Craig creature."

"They were good people, Sean. Ian had lived here all his life – I think he truly believed that the rest of the community would support him. And surely you'd understand a parent feeling safer with their children close by…."

"Auch, but I can protect Teresa – what did the Sinclair's think they could do? It didn't turn out so well fer them…."

"No."

They fell silent again. There had been another word in that snatch that had alerted something in Wolfsbane. What was it? Sinclair? It meant something, she was sure of that, but she couldn't quite work out what. It was something painful though, something she wished she could drown out by running through the moors or howling at the moon. But why the two people were mentioning it, she had no idea.

Then an insistent ringing noise sounded throughout the building. _Brriiinnnng__… brriinngg… brrriinnng…_ it stopped, and a few seconds later a third person joined the couple outside her lair.

"It's those people from the Institute for you Moira." This speaker was the youngest person on the island – the female who was the offspring of the male leader, with the long blonde hair. There was a pause, and then the red-haired female started speaking softly, without any reply as far as Wolfsbane could make out. The younger female joined the male in watching the wolf.

"So there's still no change," she said.

"Naw, cagaran. She's still stuck as a wolf. But I still don't understand why she'd want t' do it."

"Well, it sort of makes sense if you think about it, da: I mean, think about what she's had to go through – hunted by people who were her friends, her parents killed, almost dying herself… If I had to deal with that, I'd be wanting to find any way out of it that I could – I'd be trying to block it out, distance myself from it – so that it happened to someone else, not me. Most of us can't escape from ourselves without going completely crazy – but she's got this escape route, see? As a wolf she's disengaged – the things sort of happened to someone else. She's found away of getting away from it."

"That's quite right, Teresa," said the red-haired female, who'd rejoined the other two. "Dissociation is a common reaction to traumatic events – both from other people and from yourself – it's easiest to withdraw from other people, even withdraw from your own thoughts instead of coping. I think that Rahne has a rather acute case of PTSD."

"So why can't we help her then?" the girl asked.

"The treatments tend to rely on cognitive therapy methods, unfortunately. Talking it over is important – and we're having no luck even with making ourselves understood to her at the moment. And they also tend to involve direct exposure to the traumatic stimulus, and I don't think that we can safely let her see any of the people from her home just yet without putting their lives in danger."

"T'is as much as they deserve," the male muttered.

"Perhaps, but I refuse to have their blood on my hands. And I don't think that it would help Rahne to rediscover her human side at all."

"Naw, yer right. What did Charles have t' say then?"

"He said that the situation over there is as stable as it's going to be for the moment. He agrees with Betsy that telepathy isn't going to be much use in this situation, but he told me he's sending over a team that he thinks may be able to help us. They should be here by tomorrow morning."

"What team?"

"He didn't say very much – only that they had some experience with dealing with this sort of problem…."

* * *

**_NB:_** _Betsy is indeed another canon character, but I'll hold off on my little explanation about her until I actually introduce her properly in a couple of chapters._

_cagaran__: darling, or dear in Irish Gaelic._


	15. Intrusion

There were strangers on the island. Wolfsbane could hear their plane as it touched down on the windswept landing field. She left her lair to examine the intruders as they set foot on her territory – keeping a wary distance, she watched as they stepped down one by one. There were four of them: two young males, a young female, and an older male, who was obviously the leader of this new pack. He was short in stature, but powerful, and she could sense the barely controlled anger as he walked toward the building.

Strangely, she somehow didn't feel as threatened by the strangers as she should have; there was something familiar, almost reassuring about them. Puzzled by this, the wolf decided to forgo challenging them as they crossed the field, content instead to observe them unseen. She was upwind of them, but the wolf knew that puny humans lacked the ability to see the world of scent as she could, so that was unimportant.

However, halfway across the field the leader paused, and appeared to be testing his nose against the wind like a wolf would do. He stared briefly at the spot where Wolfsbane was concealed, frowning, then shrugged his shoulders and moved on. The hidden wolf was further confused by this display – the intruder seemed human, but he had acted like a wolf. But confusion is not a natural state for a wolf, and it quickly passed. The man was what he was, thinking about it was not going to change anything, and so she accepted it without engaging any rational processes.

And then the intruders were inside the building and Wolfsbane was left alone on the empty moor. She followed them inside; still wary of their strangeness and wanting to make sure they understood that they were trespassing on her pack's territory. They gathered outside the room she had made her lair, so she retreated to the nest she had made in the corner of that room and watched them with guarded alertness.

They were watching her too, and were talking to the leaders of her pack, the male and the red-haired female.

"…completely unresponsive," the female was saying. "She appears not to recognise us as people she has met and talked to. Perhaps you'll have better luck…."

"Sam and I should go in," one of the younger male strangers said quickly. "We know her the best, and I… she's always come to us with her problems before – we should be able to reach her." He seemed completely assured of himself.  
"If you say so, sunshine," said his pack leader. He didn't sound convinced however – he had been observing the wolf more closely than the rest and had noted things about her behaviour that the others had missed. "But be careful in there – she is a wolf, and wolves don't take too kindly to strangers intruding on their territory."

"We're not strangers though," the boy replied confidently.

The door opened, and the two young males entered her lair. Wolfsbane growled at them as a warning and took up a defensive position, baring her teeth. She was ready to fight to protect herself from these strangers who were invading her lair.

"Hey, Wolfie, it's me," said one of them, an olive-skinned boy with black hair. He walked toward the wolf, who started to back away while still keeping her teeth bared, ready to leap if he made any overt motions to attack. She deepened her growl slightly.

"I'd back off if I were you, Berto," said the other one, a tall lanky youth with longish blond hair. "I think you're worrying her."

"No, it's okay Sammy, she knows me... She wouldn't forget! I just have to get close enough to reach her, so she can recognise me. This is still Rahne, she still knows us!" the boy replied forcefully. And with that he moved closer to the wolf.

Something that had been bothering Wolfsbane finally dawned on her. The boy's smell. It awakened something, some buried memory that insisted on telling her that the boy was not a stranger, that he was... something familiar. But the memories refused to come to the surface and the young male was still a stranger as far as she could otherwise tell. The confusion threatened to overwhelm her, causing her anxiety to build. She backed away further as he approached, apprehensive of this bewildering intruder, but ended up forced into a corner as he continued to advance.

"Come on Wolfie," he was saying. "You've got to let us help you deal with this. You've got to come back for everyone, for me…." He stretched out a hand toward her.

The strange scent grew even stronger as he went to touch her. Her internal debate escalated, the insistent hints of memory battling against the instincts that were telling her to distrust this strange intruder who was invading her territory. But the wolf was not equipped for reasoning out a dilemma – other instincts were telling her that introspection was pointless. Finally instinct won out – the invasion of her personal space was too immediately threatening to be forgotten about. She closed her jaws on the outstretched hand.

The boy pulled away hurriedly, clutching his hand. He uttered a number of expletives loudly, which fortunately meant absolutely nothing to Wolfsbane, then retreated further back and glared at her. The wolf returned the stare from her corner. She was still on guard against further aggression, and ready to defend herself with more than a warning bite.

"I think we should leave now," said the blonde male firmly, pulling his companion out the door. "You've pissed her off, and you know what she gets like.…"

They disappeared, but were almost instantly replaced by the other two strangers, the pack leader and the young female. The male motioned the female to stay back then strode toward Wolfsbane. His stance was exactly that of a dominant male wolf – head up, shoulders square, and she could even believe that his ears were perked up, even though he lacked the pointed ears of a wolf. Instinctively she found herself assuming a more docile position, crouching down and whining submissively.

Maintaining eye contact with the wolf all the while, he then spoke to the young female he had brought with him. "Okay Stripes. Your turn now."

The girl started to advance somewhat hesitantly toward the pair in the corner. Wolfsbane watched her draw near out of the corner of her eye. Closer, and closer… she was right beside the male. "Logan, are ya sure about this?" she asked.

"Do it," he replied.

Cautiously, the girl reached out to touch the wolf. Wolfsbane growled at the new invasion of her space and prepared to bite this assailant too, but the man snarled at her just as a dominant male wolf would and she cowered back obediently, resigning head. Then she blacked out...

……

Rahne came to a minute later. Mr Logan was kneeling in front of her, with Rogue behind him. "Where am I?" she asked weakly, not sure of anything.

"You're in the Research Centre on Muir Island," he told her. "You've been here for three weeks."

"But… I…." Remembrance dawned. "They're dead, aren't they? He killed them." She found it difficult to muster any kind of energy to put emotion into her voice. She could still see the flames, and the Reverend's impassive expression. But then she remembered what had led to the fire. "No, it was my fault. I got them killed."

"It wasn't your fault, Rahne."

"But, I didn't… I should have done something! And now, they, they're gone…," her voice broke off as all the pain and guilt of remorse that couldn't be ignored in her human form finally caught up with her. It was still too much she thought, she had to get away from it again. She had to….

"No," said Logan immediately, obviously picking up on her thought processes. "You can't keep escaping to wolf form forever. You've got to deal with it sooner or later."

"But it's too much, I can't… this way I can manage…," she protested.

"No." The word was said with finality, and there were still enough of her wolf instincts remaining that she obeyed the man implicitly. "You've got to keep your humanity. Otherwise you're nothing."

"What would you know about it?" Rahne challenged him resentfully. "You don't know what it's like!"

She saw the merest flicker pass across his face. "You can go now, Stripes," he told Rogue quietly. The older girl silently left the room. When the door closed behind her, Logan continued. "I do know what it's like to have someone you love die for you. I've been there." Rahne stared at him in shock. "You want it all to just go away, so you can forget about it while it's too fresh and painful. It's easiest to give in to your instincts and go run with the wolves. You can forget about the pain, the recriminations and just exist." Rahne nodded. The gruff Canadian seemed to be reading her mind. But how did he know? She'd always assumed that the instructor had a wolf's senses, but not the same instincts which often guided her own actions. Perhaps she'd been wrong about that.

"But why not?" she asked challengingly, proper submission to a dominant male forgotten with the more pressing concerns of human form. "Isn't it easier for everyone if I stay as a wolf?"

"It's a cop-out, kid," Logan replied. "You're just running from your problems, hiding from them. If there's one thing I've learnt, it's that you've got to do things the hard way, because the easy way always ends up harder in the long run." She wasn't sure what he meant, but he went on. "Trust me, kid. You've got to work through your issues, not just avoid them. Took me a long time to learn that, but it's true.

"It's just…," she began.

"It's hard, yeah, but it's not just you you're doing it for." Rahne looked at him, puzzled. She didn't understand. "There's a lot of people out there who care about you, kid. They don't want to see you slip away from them. I don't think young Sunshine wants to be carrying out a relationship with an animal, and Dr MacTaggert doesn't need a pet. They want the human girl they know and love, not the wolf. It's not fair for you to escape from your troubles and leave them to deal with it."

Rahne thought about this. About how Moira had been so patient with her in her wolf form, and Roberto and Sam had come halfway across the world to help her. She didn't want to be the cause of them suffering. "I suppose you're right," she said reluctantly.

"Course I am." Logan grinned. And that seemed to be all that needed to be said.

They sat there without talking for a minute or two. Logan apparently had nothing more to say, and Rahne was still feeling too numb after her experiences to carry on a conversation. Then the silence was suddenly broken by a crashing noise and the sound of a loud "holy shit!" delivered in a Southern accent….


	16. Meeting

"That was Rogue," said Logan, growling. "She's still got some of your instincts in her head, kid. We'd better go find her before she does anything too stupid."

Rahne followed him out of the room that had been her home for three weeks and through a series of corridors as he tracked the Southern girl's scent. Most of the compound seemed unfamiliar to her now she saw it with human eyes – as a wolf she had spent as much time as possible outside on the island, and had ignored most of the interior of the building as so much background.

Logan stopped in the doorway of one of the rooms in the living area of the complex. He was standing squarely in the middle of the doorway, but by peering round the brawny man's side Rahne managed to see what was happening in the room, which appeared to be some sort of staff room. Rogue was standing by the sink, shards of a pottery cup and a puddle of coffee at her feet. She seemed almost frozen in place, and the acidic smell of shock was pouring off her in waves. Underneath that, Rahne thought she could detect something like old pain.

The southerner's eyes were fixed on the other occupant of the room, who was sitting calmly on one of the sofas with her legs tucked up underneath her body. She seemed vaguely familiar to Rahne, with her vivid short purple hair parted on one side and framing her face. Rahne racked her brain to try and figure out where she'd seen the girl before… then it came to her. At that party that Kitty and Kurt had organised at the mansion – wasn't she Rogue's friend…, she couldn't remember the name… Misty, maybe?

Rogue continued to stare at the girl, but as Rahne watched she could smell her old teammate's scent dissolve from shock into denial and confusion. "Ya're… dead! Ah saw ya die…," she breathed.

"Don't know what you're talking about luv, sorry," the other girl replied conversationally.

"Ya ruined mah lahfe, Mystique!" Rogue shouted at her suddenly, the confusion fading just as swiftly into rage. "Ah'm not going ta let you do that ta anyone else!" and she lunged at the girl. Logan managed to grab her just in time, but she struggled against him, trying to break free. Was that what I was like? Rahne wondered to herself. Just thinking about destroying what had hurt me, and nothing else?

"Mystique?" the purple haired girl asked, with an expression of polite confusion. "I'm not Mystique. I go by Psylocke, if it helps any..." Rogue growled at her, unconvinced.

"She's telling the truth, Stripes," Logan added. "Moira has her own way of detecting the blue bitch."

Rogue relaxed slightly, or perhaps deflated would have been a more apt description. "Then… ya… ya're tha real Risty?" she asked.

"Sorry, that's not me either luv," Psylocke replied, shrugging. "Name's Betsy. Betsy Braddock, if you want to be formal."

"Oh." Rogue looked slightly disappointed.

"Did you know this Risty girl then?" Betsy asked.

"Ah… ah thought ah did." Rogue looked away. "She looked jus' lahke ya… but it wasn't real."

"Oh. Too bad," Betsy responded sympathetically. "I'm real, as far as I can tell. Probably a damn sight cooler than she ever was, right?" It was a delivered with a supremely self-assured tone, at which even Rogue couldn't help but laugh. "Tell you what luv, how about I get you another cup of coffee? You seem to have lost your last one somewhere along the floor." She wandered over to the cupboards. "Nice to see you're upright again there Rahne," she added, acting as though the wolf-girl's entrance in human form was completely expected.

Rahne realised she'd been wrong about recognising the girl as Rogue's friend – now she was in the room, she could detect the girl's scent, which was nothing like the exchange student's. Betsy had been the other visitor to the Island yesterday, the one she'd chased away. But if she ignored her nose, the resemblance was still uncanny.

After providing Rogue and Logan with coffee Betsy sat back down in her spot on the sofa and began reading a book, apparently completely oblivious to the fact that she was no longer alone in the room. She didn't even look up when more footsteps sounded outside the door and Sam and Roberto walked in.

"There ya are Rahne!" Sam exclaimed, broad smile lighting up his face. "Dr MacTaggert said back ya were back to yahself and alright again!"

"I don't know about alright," she replied. She still hadn't really begun to process the events of the past few months properly, and was currently feeling oddly removed from all the human interactions going on around – her three weeks as a wolf hadn't quite worn off, and talking with people seemed a little… unusual. "But I'm back, and it's really great to see ye here, Sammy."

"Sure is!" he said, scooping her up into a big bear hug which lifted her clear off the ground. Rahne laughed, for probably the first time since Easter.

Roberto, however had hung back. His right hand was bandaged lightly, and he was holding it protectively as if to shield it from her. Guiltily, she remembered about their confrontation in her lair and the warning bite she had given him when she thought he was threatening her.

"Are you okay?" she asked him, concerned.

"You bit me!" he said resentfully, annoyance touching his scent.

"Please Roberto. I'm sorry," Rahne implored, voice cracking slightly. She didn't want Roberto, who meant almost everything to her now her parents were gone abandoning her too.

"You bit me!" he repeated, as though he was having trouble processing the idea.

"Come on, 'Berto," said Sam. "Ya know she wasn't herself or anythang – she didn't mean it. Anyway, it was only ya hand, and it wasn't as if it was deep."

"That's right Sparky," Betsy added idly from her seat on the sofa. "Anyway, you liked it – in fact, you want her to bite you again, just not on the hand this time!" Everyone, especially Roberto, shot her confused looks. "Don't try to deny it to me, luv," she said. "I'm a telepath – I know what you're thinking in that dirty little mind of yours…."

"But… I wasn't," Roberto protested, while everyone turned to give him odd looks.

"Sure you were," she insisted. He shook his head again. She stared at him intently for a while longer, then abruptly laughed. "Okay, you weren't, but it was funny while it lasted." She then turned back to her book, appearing once again to completely switch off from the others.

Betsy's comments, however odd, had broken the uncomfortable situation. Rahne had stayed watching Roberto the whole time, and he finally met her eyes. "I'm sorry too, Wolfie," he said. "It wasn't your fault." He didn't quite go as far as saying that it was his fault, but she didn't expect that much from the self-proclaimed faultless Roberto Da Costa. He gathered her up in a hug which, while not as boisterous as Sam's, was much fiercer. She returned it with interest, relieved to know she hadn't lost him too.

"Just don't do it again, kay?" he added as they finally pulled apart.

"Oh, are ye sure about that?" Rahne teased playfully. Betsy raised an eyebrow without looking up, making Roberto blush again. Which set Rogue and Logan snorting, spilling yet more coffee.

"What's going on?" asked Sam, innocent as always. That sent all three girls into fits of giggles, as he stood there radiating genuine confusion.

They managed to calm down in the end, although nobody could quite face explaining everything to Sam. Roberto had kept an arm around Rahne throughout, as though he wanted to keep her close to him. "I was so worried about you, Wolfie," he told her quietly. "I'm really glad you're back with us."

"Me too," Rahne replied, smiling up at him. He flashed his gorgeous white teeth back, then hugged her tightly again. And for just that moment, everything else retreated for a while.

They stayed like that for a while, until being interrupted by Betsy declaring loudly "Geez break it up! I think that's enough PDA for one day." Rahne pulled away, feeling embarrassed. "Oh, sorry," she said, guiltily.

Instead of accepting the apology, the older girl laughed. "No need to listen to me, luv. I just like to see people jump."

"So, what's going ta happen…," Sam began to ask, but he never got round to finish his sentence because Teresa walked into the room.

"So this is where everybody got to," she said, looking around and seeing Sam with his mouth hanging open. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I interrupt something?"

"Oh… no…," he stammered, staring transfixed at her curly blonde hair and long, slim body. "Ah… ah… was just… saying… umm… nothang important!" The last two words came out in a rush. "Mah… mah name… Ah'm Sam!" he finished eventually.

"Hello Sam. I'm Teresa," she told him, smiling at him politely. "It's nice to meet you."

The Southern boy's face turned a rather intense shade of red at the honour of having this girl say his name. "It sure is good ta meet ya too, Teresa," he managed gallantly in the end, but only after a few false starts, and some not-so-helpful promptings from a highly amused Betsy. Rahne had to bury her face in Roberto's chest to stifle another laugh at her shy friend's antics. Perhaps it wasn't so bad being part of the human world again.

* * *

**_NB:_**_ so there we go – a proper introduction for our latest canon addition. Betsy Braddock, or Psylocke. British telepath, famous for having very very purple hair. I couldn't resist having her look just like Risty too…yeah, I know, I'm self-absorbed. In the comics she got asianified at one point, but in an endeavour to keep things simple, I've kept her as ordinary British body here. Just in case anyone was wondering…_


	17. Decision

**_NB:_**_ Italics indicate telepathic speech._

* * *

There was very little conversation among the group in the staffroom. Logan and Rogue both appeared to be brooding over their own personal worries, Betsy had returned to possibly reading her book, and Sam and Teresa were deep in one of those stumbling kind of conversations where almost nothing is actually said because of embarrassment. Well, on Sam's side anyway. Teresa was smiling and nodding encouragingly at the Southern boy as he stuttered. Rahne thought she could detect a hint of hidden good-natured amusement in the Irish girl's scent, and maybe the beginnings of affection. She and Roberto left the other two alone, retreating to the other couch. Rahne had curled herself up against Roberto, head in his lap. She was silent, unsure of herself and not wanting to bring up what had happened for fear of breaking down completely. For now just having someone there was enough to provide some measure of comfort.

"So this is where y've all got t' then," Sean's voice appeared at the doorway, Moira beside him. As they entered, he glanced over at his daughter. "What's the craic, cagaran?" He sent Sam a suspicious glance, making the boy jump away from Teresa, looking guilty. "Who's this ùmaidh?"

"Da!" the girl complained.

"That's enough, Sean," Moira told him. "We've got more important things to discuss."

"Well, I think the boys who try t' seduce my daughter are pretty important, naw?" He glared threateningly at Sam, who shivered, looking as though he'd quite like to become invisible. Sean, for his pains, received a death glare from said daughter and a sigh from Moira.

"We need to discuss where Rahne is going to go now," she reminded him.

"But, what's to discuss?" Roberto asked, puzzled. "She's back to normal – she's better now – she'll be coming back with us." He looked to Logan to confirmation, but he grizzled man said nothing. "Won't she?"

"I'm afraid your confidence is misplaced, Roberto. You still have a lot to learn about people," Moira replied quietly. "Rahne unfortunately isn't all better now."

"But she is! She's not a wolf anymore!" he protested.

"That's true, but admitting you have to deal with a traumatic experience _is_ only the first step toward full recovery, not the cure in itself."

Confusion tinted the boy's scent. "But… she's alright now, look!"

Moira merely raised an eyebrow at this, but Sean took another tactic. Softly, he uttered a single word. "Demon!" Rahne whimpered, cringing at the painful reminder. Sean looked pointedly at her. "I don't think that's alright. Do yer, Sunshine?"

"That's enough," growled Logan. "You've made your point, Cassidy. The real question isn't whether the kid's well or not – it's where's the right place to help her get over it."

"You're completely right, Logan," said Moira. "But that place is here on the Island."

"Why? Seems to me that she needs to be back with people she knows, people her own age."

"She needs proper care. We know her too, and as you can see, there are teenagers here."

"She can get treatment at the Institute. We've got Hank."

"Logan, while I have the utmost respect for Dr McCoy's abilities, the fact remains that he is a chemistry teacher, and is not trained in medicine. He simply isn't equipped to help someone suffering from severe PTSD."

"No, but maybe Chuck is."

"Betsy will be on hand to help me if I need any psychic assistance." She paused, then started another tack. "From what you've told me, Charles has more than enough to worry about at the moment. In fact you all do. The mutant situation in America is tense already, and you will be busy trying to stop Apocalypse. I'm sorry, but I simply can't allow you to take Rahne back to a place that will put that much stress on her. It's too dangerous, for her and for all of you."

There was silence for a minute. Rahne couldn't think of anything to say; most of the conversation had drifted over her head. She'd been vaguely aware that the adults had been arguing over her, but she had been unable to concentrate, and the details had escaped her. The odd feeling of separation had returned, and she felt as though thinking too hard about anything would somehow cause her to shatter.

Logan opened his mouth to say something more, but was interrupted by Teresa, who asked quietly, "shouldn't it be Rahne's decision?"

Sean started to protest, but was silenced by Moira. "You're right, Teresa." She looked toward Rahne, who was still curled up against Roberto. "What do you want to do, honey?"

The others turned to look at her, and Rahne suddenly felt like she was back facing the accusing crowd of villagers – once again the object of everyone's attention. Somehow scared by this scrutiny, she shrank away from their stares, attempting to sink into Roberto's shoulder and hide from the crowd. She was barely noticed that a question had been asked, her thoughts instead dwelling on the fact that everyone was looking at her, focused on her. Memories of the hunt and her subsequent capture resurfaced and she was overwhelmed by a sense of fear – she was cornered again. The signals she was receiving from her nose told her otherwise, that these people, this time were concerned for her, cared for her, but the message was overruled by the growing panicky feelings that had taken over her mind in tandem with the recollections. She was trapped, they were staring, they would do it again, she was trapped… Rahne tried to burrow further into the boy beside her, desperate to escape again, her thoughts revolving in a chaotic intensity of panic. She was….

_Easy there, luv._ Betsy's voice sounded in her head. _It's okay. No one's going to hurt you, you're okay. You're safe._ With the words came a calming sensation as the telepath attempted to soothe her anxiety. Rahne felt some of her panic ease, and found that she was able to relax and loosen her death grip on Roberto's arm.

They were all still looking at her, but now, with Betsy's help and continued mental reassurance she could contain the memories and focus on the scents that were reaching her nose. Their concern was palpable, to her at least. "I'm sorry," she said in a small voice. "I…."

"That's okay, darling," Moira said. "Just relax, okay? We just want to know whether you want to stay here on the Island for the moment, or go back to the Institute."

"Oh. Okay." Rahne tried to consider the options, but she found herself almost frozen, unable to think. She felt numb, isolated from the decision. It seemed too big, too much for her to have to do.

Why did she have to decide anyway? She couldn't keep from asking herself that question with a sudden twinge of bitterness. She was fifteen, her parents were supposed to be there, to make the big decisions for her. They were supposed to… but they were gone, weren't they? They'd left her. Anger and yearning suddenly threatened to swamp her.

_Whoa, it's okay. Just relax, luv. Think through it step by step._ As Betsy calmed her rising emotions again, Rahne found some way to be able to think.

She'd been happy at the Institute, on the whole. She had her boys, and the rest of her friends, and the instructors had always been friendly and helpful (even if Mr Logan showed it in an odd kind of way). It was a nice place, although she could still remember how it had never felt completely like home, to her wolf side. On the other hand Muir Island was unfamiliar to her in her human form, even if she knew every inch as a wolf. She didn't know much about the inhabitants, although her three weeks here had led her to consider them as her pack… Hang on. Rahne paused, somewhat surprised at the thought. They were her pack? She reflected on the feeling. Yes, the instincts were oddly definite. They filled her with dread at the idea of having to move, to find a new territory again. This was the home that she had made for herself as a wolf – the Island with its moors and its inhabitants. Her pack.

But you're more than a wolf, Rahne, she told herself. Logan had told her that. Perhaps she needed to go to the Institute in order to get away completely from the instincts that had led her to lose herself for weeks. She could escape from them if she went. And she could escape any reminders of Ullapool in America – she'd never have to think about Reverend Craig or the villagers again.

Except that was what she wasn't supposed to do, according to Logan. She could escape again, but then she would always be escaping. No. For once, instinct and reason agreed on something. "I want to stay here," she said finally. "For now, anyway." There, she'd made a decision. It might have been wrong, but she'd made it for herself. Somehow that made her feel more able to face the rest of her fears.

Roberto stared at her with a shocked, almost hurt expression. Rahne looked back at him, pleading for him to understand for the second time. "I'm sorry. I just… I can't leave now, or I'll never be able to deal with…," her voice faltered. "With what happened."

"Okay," he said eventually. "But you'll come back to me, right?"

"Of course." She managed a weak smile. "How could any girl resist the wonderful Roberto da Costa?"

"Exactly! You'll…," he trailed off on seeing her expression. "Oh. That was a joke."

"Sort of." But only sort of, she thought as he smiled at her again. Joking was all very well, but those beautiful white teeth were very hard to resist.

......

The rest of the goodbyes were made and the team from the Institute left Muir Island to return to Bayville, without their little Scottish werewolf, who waved to them somewhat tearfully as they departed. But Rahne found she could take some comfort from the presence of the other inhabitants of the island, the people she'd decided to stay with.

"Oh, by the way honey, I have another piece of news," said Moira as she put an arm around Rahne to lead her back inside. "This came today." She handed the girl a sheaf of white paper covered with official looking writing.

"What is it?" Rahne asked.

"They're formal papers of adoption," the woman told her. "I've arranged to become your new foster mother. I hope that's alright."

Rahne couldn't help feeling a shard of grief at this news. Gaining a foster mother meant that she had to accept that her parents were dead, that they couldn't look after her anymore. The raw, painful grief over their deaths she'd dealt with as Wolfsbane, but a hollow sort of feeling remained. But she managed to give Moira a weak smile, making the short red-haired woman breathe a sigh of relief. "Thank you." She didn't know what else to say, but Moira's hug told her nothing more was necessary.

"Hey, this means we're foster sisters!" said Teresa. "Well, kind of, anyway."

Rahne smiled. Apparently the wolf instincts were right – she had made herself a new family here. Except that the hollow feeling was still there, lurking at the back of her mind.

* * *

**_NB: _**_More bits of Gaelic translation._

_what's__ the craic?: what's up?_

_Ùmaidh__: idiot_

_Also, Moira becoming Rahne's foster mother is canon, although the time frame is probably a bit sudden as I've written it. I'm not really sure how these things work, even here in NZ. But let's assume Moira pulled various strings…_


	18. News

Life has a somewhat irritating tendency to go on no matter what, and it usually manages to drag you along with it. And so over the next week Rahne discovered that she became integrated into the regular routine of life at the Muir Island Mutant Research Centre without any deliberate effort on her part. Natural curiosity led her into the laboratory where Moira spent most of her time, and Rahne found she could gain a certain amount of peace from helping her new foster mother carry out the necessary but mind-numbingly repetitive procedures involved in deciphering the mysteries of mutant genetics. Moira for her part seemed to enjoy having some company and an extra pair of hands, and while Rahne understood not much above half of the scientific explanations, she found she could still follow the instructions with reasonable ease. It felt good to be doing something constructive again, and it also kept her from dwelling obsessively on her worries.

Most of Rahne's contact with the Island's other inhabitants consisted of this time spent helping Moira in the lab, as Sean was often away on Interpol business and Teresa spent large amounts of time buried under masses of schoolwork despite the fact that it was the middle of June, although she always managed to take time out every day to hang out with her new 'sister'.

When Sean was present he often took his daughter down to one of the lower level basements so she could work on further developing her vocal powers. At those times Rahne found that she had to retreat out to the moors – although the basement was fairly well sound-proofed her hearing was now superhumanly acute even in human form - possibly because of her prolonged time as a wolf according to Moira. In any case, she now had to be outside before the muffled sounds of sonic screams completely faded.

Betsy came and went as she pleased – she seemed to divide her time between the Island and whatever life and commitments she had back in England. She always managed to be present when Moira was busy elsewhere, however – Rahne suspected this was part of a deliberate scheme to make sure that she had a babysitter present in case she broke down again, which irked her, although she could understand their reasoning at some level.

Whatever her reservations about being constantly watched, she couldn't deny that Betsy was good company. The purple-haired girl constantly had some dryly amusing observation to make, and despite being four years older than Rahne and Teresa she always treated the younger girls as equals.

Tonight Moira was away at a conference in Oxford and Betsy had managed to coax Teresa away from her studies to help cook dinner – although the English girl was talented at many things, her cooking made Rahne miss even Kitty's attempts at cuisine. Thus the three girls were sitting in the kitchen watching the BBC news.

"Not that they ever tell you anything you want to know," Betsy remarked, but even she fell silent as the first headline flashed up: 'Mutant Kills'

"In breaking news, residents of Kensington, London, are still reeling after the tragic death of one of its residents. Gayle Edgarton, aged 17, was killed in a freak explosion believed to the work of a mutant. Police are refusing to comment on speculations that the victim's boyfriend, one Jonathon Starsmore, might be the cause of the explosion, but are asking the public to treat Starsmore, shown here, with extreme caution if encountered, and are also urging them to avoid antagonising or approaching him."

The face of the boy in the picture on screen didn't seem to be that of a murderer to Rahne. Jonathon Starsmore appeared to be not much older than her, and his youthful features and slightly shaggy brown hair made him look more shy than too dangerous to be approached. She felt an odd sense of kinship with the boy, who must surely be alone, scared and confused by whatever it was he had done, and in a familiar environment which would nevertheless now be completely hostile to him. She knew the feeling only too well – but this was central London, not the remote highlands – things would be different, Jonathon wouldn't be facing a lynch mob – would he?

"So that must be what Da got called away to this arvo," Teresa commented. "Poor thing, being on the run like that." She noticed Rahne's discomfort and tried to reassure her. "It'll be okay. Da will sort this all out and help the boy – just like he did for you." Rahne nodded at her 'sister's' assertion, but she couldn't help wondering if it was right. Sean had been there to help her, but she hadn't actually killed anyone. 'Are you sure about that?' asked an insidious little voice in her head. 'What about your parents? They died because of you.' Despite constant affirmations from Moira and Betsy that what had happened in the village wasn't her fault, Rahne couldn't quite get rid of the sense of guilty responsibility which still haunted her over the events of that night. All the same, this time she made a deliberate effort to silence the accusing voice so that she could concentrate on the next report.

"In related news, a pyramid in southern China has been engulfed by an energy dome similar to those recently discovered in Egypt and Mexico. The pyramid, which experts say dates back at least 3000 years, is located in the Shanzi province not far from the border with Thailand. The Chinese military is mobilising itself to attack the so-called 'force-field' surrounding the pyramid, although many world leaders are counselling caution after the fiasco with the pyramid's counterpart in Mexico. The Prime Minister announced in a joint statement with the US President that they believe this to be the work of mutants…."

There was a loud click, and the anchorman's voice was cut off – Betsy had switched off the television. "That's about all I can stand to hear about how dangerous we are for one night."

Teresa nodded, looking thoughtful. "I wonder if this is the end of the honeymoon for us now. I mean, mutants in the UK have been pretty lucky so far, compared to places like America – we've been treated more as a curiosity than a threat."

Rahne looked at the golden-haired girl in disbelief. Mutants were lucky in the UK? Treated as a curiosity? What she'd faced in Ullapool had been worse than any reports she'd heard from America. To Reverend Craig, she'd definitely been a threat.

Betsy picked up on her distress and smoothly changed the subject. "So this new dome is what your mates at the Xavier Institute are all caught up in then, luv?"

"I think so," Rahne replied. Roberto and Sam hadn't known much more about it than she did, as the New Recruits had been kept mostly out of the loop as always, but they'd mentioned that the adults and older students had been on edge since Apocalypse was released back in May. "They're always off saving the world, or using their powers to help people."

Her words must have been delivered with more regret than she'd meant to reveal, because she noticed Betsy looking at her with a tinge of concern in her scent. "You missing being there, luv?"

"Well, a bit, but…," Rahne trailed off, not quite sure of what she meant. "I suppose part of what I miss is being able to use my powers to do something – to help people." As a New Recruit, she hadn't gone on many missions with the X-men, but there was the time in the Redwoods where they'd helped Dr McCoy and scared the poachers – that had felt good, somehow right.

"Missing the superhero lifestyle, eh?" Betsy teased good-naturedly. "There's plenty of time for that later though, isn't there?" On hearing those words Rahne found herself bursting into tears, much to Betsy's embarrassment. "I'm sorry luv," the older girl said quickly. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, it's what you said about plenty of time," Rahne managed to gulp through her tears. "That's… that's what my mother used to say." It was the first time she'd actually cried for her parents – wolves can't cry, and then so many other things had been going on that she'd never got to dwell on what happened. Now she felt slightly ashamed to be shedding tears over something so trivial, but she couldn't make herself stop.

"There there…" The other two girls caught her up in a three-way hug and they stayed there until Rahne had cried herself out.

"Still, if it's superheroness you're after, we're not completely deficient over here in Britain," Betsy remarked as she went back to washing potatoes.

"Huh?'

"You know, Excalibur and all that." Rahne stared at her. "Oh, you don't know? I thought old Seany would have told you all about it, first thing."

"We had a few more pressing concerns at the time, if you remember," Teresa pointed out. Betsy shrugged.

"What is this Excalibur?" Rahne asked, intrigued.

"We're the X-men, but British," said Betsy. "And with more style, of course."

Teresa rolled her eyes at the English girl's assertion and proceeded to explain. "Excalibur is a group formed to defend Britain from various threats, mutant or otherwise. So far, we've only got five members: me and Da, Betsy and her brother Brian, and his girlfriend Meggan; but Moira's kind of an honorary member and you'd be welcome to join too." Rahne found that prospect cheered her. "Brian's in charge mainly – they call him Captain Britain, he's got some kind of sacred covenant to protect the Isles which I don't really understand.…"

"Like I said, we're pretty much like the X-men, but cooler," added Betsy.

……

Rahne spent much of the rest of the evening lost in thought. None that had any real lasting meaning – her mind was sliding from idea to idea without ever engaging any, but there was a general sense of press and urgency in the whirl. Suddenly she was overcome by a need to get out of the building which seemed to be caging her.

She instinctively began to walk to the door that led outside, but Betsy barred the way. "Where are you going, luv?"

"To the moor. I need to get outside for a bit."

"Human or wolf?'

The question caught Rahne off guard. She hadn't transformed since Logan's visit, and now she found herself flinching at the idea. Fear of losing herself as a wolf again was part of it, but the news report about Jonathon Starsmore, coupled with finally crying for her parents had brought back all the memories of Ullapool back to the surface. Like Jonathon, all her powers had done was hurt people. Her transforming had led to her parents dying and she could also recall the feral rage her wolf side had summoned when she'd attacked the villagers. She couldn't trust herself to transform. "Human."

Betsy stared at her searchingly for a long time, but in the end she nodded briefly. And so Rahne sat on the easternmost point of the island, knees hunched up to her chest, and stared out across the black waters as the bitter wind whipped around her. She couldn't see anything in the overcast black night in this form, but she knew she was facing the mainland and all it had meant – recollections of both pain and happiness. It was a moment to howl for the memory of her parents, but she couldn't bring herself to do that - so she had to settle for brooding over them in the comforting emptiness of the highland night until Betsy came to drag her back inside before she froze to death.

* * *

**_NB:_**_ Jonothan Starsmore is yet another canon character, whose power I won't go into just yet. You'll find out, if you don't already know. The back story I've given here is semi-canon - except over in the comics, his girlfriend didn't actually die._

_Excalibur is also canon, although the line up is a bit changed (originally in the comics it was Brian, Meggan, Kurt, Kitty and Rachel Summers). And they did work out of Muir Island, and they were like the X-men but cooler (at least, I think so)._

_And that dome is the one that turned up in that Season 4 episode… Uprising, I think. Yeah… I haven't just totally disregarded the show, really!_


	19. Speech

"Come on Rahne!" Teresa called as she dragged her through one of the lower corridors of the Research Centre. "We've got to get to the meeting room – Da's finally going to tell us what's going on!"

Sean had returned from London the day before – without Jonathon Starsmore. Tight-lipped, he'd refused to answer any of the girls' questions, saying that he had to wait for all of Excalibur to be present before he could tell them anything. But apparently that time had finally come.

Sure enough, by the time Rahne and Teresa arrived at the sub-basement room which had become the headquarters of Excalibur, the others were already there. Sean and Moira were seated at the head of a conference table, while Betsy was lounging at the other end. Rahne looked around in vain to try to find Betsy's brother but no one else was in the room. However, glancing back, she noticed a blonde couple walking down from the other end of the corridor toward the door.

The man stood aside politely to let the girls through. "Hello. You must be Rahne," he said politely, shaking her hand. "I'm Brian Braddock." Rahne felt her bones grind together beneath his grip and after he released her hand she surreptitiously tried to massage some life back into her fingers. "This is Meggan," he continued, oblivious to the effects of his strength.

His companion nodded at her with a friendly smile. Rahne looked back at her, speechless. The green-eyed woman was impossibly beautiful, but what caught her attention wasn't the delicate features – it was her ears, which were pointed like an elf's. "It's… I'm… pleased to meet you!" Rahne managed eventually, realising that she'd been staring.

"We just flew in," Brian informed the group as they took seats on the other side of the room. "Sorry we're a tad late."

"You flew? But I didn't hear a plane," Rahne asked, confused.

"No, we flew here," he repeated. There was a rather uncomfortable moment's silence as they stared at one another, each confused by what the other had said.

Finally Betsy broke the spell by explaining: "Bri and Meggan don't need planes, Rahne. They can both fly – as in, under their own steam."

"Oh," said Rahne, feeling a little stupid.

"Don't worry about it," Meggan told her, seeming to read her thoughts. "It's not important anyway."

"Meggan's right! What about Jonathon Starsmore? Did you find him? Why didn't you bring him back here?" demanded Teresa, who was almost bursting with impatience over the whole affair.

Sean waved a hand at her, asking for silence. "Auch. We found Jono yesterday."

"Then why…?" she began.

"Hush, cagaran, I'm getting there," he told her, and then addressed the rest of the group. "He was holed up in the corner of an Underground Station a couple o' blocks away from the girl's house. All turned in, practically out o' his mind – didn't know any of us from lamp-posts, it seemed. Anyway, I tried t' get them t' let me take the boy back here with me, but Cooper said no, he was a criminal, and he'd ha' t' go inta police custody."

"What?" cried Moira, outraged. "But he's not a criminal! He's just can't control his powers! He's just a boy, Sean!"

"I know, Moira. I told Cooper that, but he insisted – said the boy killed that girl and he'd ha' t' stand trial fer that." The idea of being put on trial for being unable to control your powers made Rahne feel sick to her stomach.

"But it was an accident, wasn't it Da?" asked Teresa. "They'll let him go to us. They can't convict him of murder or anything - can they?"

"They shouldn't be able t'," Sean replied. "But it gets worse."

"Mutants on trial for their powers? It'll be a bigots' field day" Betsy commented. "How can it possibly get worse?"

"Y'll see." And with that Sean clicked a remote at the screen behind him, revealing another news story.

On the screen a well-groomed man in a suit was talking. "…Recent worldwide events have exposed our apathy," he said. "There are threats to world security everywhere, but we have become complacent in our efforts to control and turn them. And now, almost under out noses a new threat has emerged – mutants. These so-called 'super-beings' have already caused havoc throughout the USA, and the recent events in Mexico and China show us that it is not an isolated phenomenon but a global movement."

The man's speech was fluent and measured. He didn't raise his voice. It was never strident, simply coolly collected and somehow compelling. Nevertheless, Rahne was reminded of another man, another sermon on the supposed mutant threat.

"Who are these mutants? They live in our societies, hiding amongst us – most of them can even pass as human. But despite their appearance, they cannot be thought of as ordinary: they are walking weapons, dangers to us and our children. It is understandable – no, it is _right_ to fear them, because they can destroy our buildings, our lives, even our minds with a single thought."

Rahne heard a low threatening growl at these words, then realised with shock that it had come from her. The other Excalibur members seemed similarly disturbed – the scents of anger, disbelief and indignation were almost palpable to her, and her friends' faces were universally wearing angry scowls. Meggan seemed even more affected than the rest – only the merest traces of her beauty remained, the once delicate features twisted into a grotesque visage which strongly resembled some of the pictures of devils which Rahne had been shown as a child. She looked away quickly, scared of the woman's transformation before she remembered that Betsy had mentioned that Meggan was a shape-shifter whose moods were reflected on her face.

"Thus far, here in Britain we have been mostly isolated from these troubles," the man on the television continued. "But as recent events have so tragically shown, we are not safe from the mutant menace – mutants are among us too, and they are dangerous. We must be on our guard in our lives and in our communities, to protect ourselves from the impending danger; to ensure that we can prevent further deaths like that of Gayle Edgarton. This tragic event must and indeed will serve as an example of the dangers posed by allowing mutants to roam unchecked in our society. For everyone's safety, including their own, I believe mutants must be contained, negated. This is why I have agreed to take the post as Crown Prosecutor in the trial of Jonathon Starsmore."

On screen, this announcement was met by an enthusiastic round of applause. In the headquarters of Excalibur on Muir Island, it was met by stony silence. With a deliberate 'click' Sean switched the screen and its orator off.

"Who was that?" Teresa asked finally. Rahne shook her head, finding herself unable to speak. To her it didn't matter who the man was – what he was and what he stood for was enough to paralyse her with fear. The words and the delivery might be different, but she recognised the sentiments behind them – this man was a better-educated, softer-spoken version of Reverend Craig – and his speech terrified her.

"His name is Edward Carson," Moira told them. "He was at Oxford at the same time I was – he studied Law. Quite brilliant: graduated with full honours and became a rising star in the legal system."

"Aye, well he's aiming a bit higher now," Sean grumbled. "I reckon yer boy's got political ambitions – thinks this case is going t' make his rep." Rahne suppressed a shudder at the idea of that man in Parliament. Apparently the others were thinking the same thing too; she caught whiffs of revulsion and apprehension in their scents.

"Carson," said Brian, wearing a thoughtful expression. "Is he any relation of Francis Carson?"

"What, that scientist who works with Dad?" asked Betsy.

Rahne turned to Teresa, giving her a querying glance – what were they talking about? "Brian and Betsy's father, Professor Braddock, is one of the pre-eminent researchers in molecular biology in the UK," her friend whispered. "Not quite up there with Moira, of course, but he's the head of the big lab at Oxford."

"Lots richer than old Moisy, too," Betsy added with a conspiratorial grin on the other side of Rahne – it was as though she'd read their minds. Actually, being Betsy, she probably had.

"Yes, Francis Carson," Moira mused. "The younger brother… Always in Ed's shadow… positively worshipped him though. Took up science instead of law – he ended up in the same field as me; he's been studying the molecular signalling pathways involved in activating mutations – published some interesting results recently, they…."

"Well, as fascinating as I'm sure all the biochemical stuff is," Brian interrupted rather loudly, "it's not really the point is it? The question is – if he's studying mutants, why's his brother suddenly coming out and denouncing us?"

No one had any answer to that.

* * *

**_NB: _**_Two canon characters this time. First, Brian Braddock, Betsy's twin, also known as Captain Britain. He's got quite a few powers, but the most important are flight, super strength and a force field, I think. Second, Meggan, also known as Meggan who is an empathic shapeshifter who flies and shoots force blasts and does any number of other special things. Seriously, her powers just do not end._

****

_Edward Carson is not a canon character in any way at all, but I did steal his name from a real person, since I'm lazy. Sir Edward Carson was a prominent English lawyer in the late 19th century, famous for prosecuting Oscar Wilde and being important in the Ulster Unionist movement. I like to think I see parallels. Anyway, there's the history lesson for the day, folks. I'm sure you were fascinated._

_Far less importantly, Francis Carson was named after Francis Crick, who co-discovered DNA (he was the smart one)._


	20. Confinement

**_NB: _**_This chapter has also been edited to at least make a poor attempt to deal with Rahne's faith and religious beliefs._

* * *

A week went by, without any further disturbance of the rather unorthodox routine of life at Muir Island. However, in the wake of Edward Carson's public announcement a leaden cloud seemed to have descended onto the Research Centre. Rahne was left to her own devices more often than not; the three other permanent residents withdrew into their respective all-absorbing pursuits – Moira segregated herself in the lab, Sean returned to his Interpol business and Teresa was once again submerged under a mountain of books. It was a situation which normally Rahne would have welcomed, but now as she had no similar obsession to devote herself to she was unable to keep from brooding.

Whether it was memories of her parents, worries about the mutant witch-hunt, or her new inability to control her powers that occupied her mind the result was the same - it was working overtime, and not in a productive way. Caught in a spiral of negative thoughts and recurrent black moods, her fragile peace of mind was gone. She felt as thought an unseen vice had gripped her and was now applying pressure from every direction at once – or maybe it was just that the walls were creeping in toward her, every wall growing smaller and smaller, trapping her.

Ordinarily she would have transformed to relieve these claustrophobic feelings, which sprang at least in part from her wolf-side's natural response to being confined for too long – both inside the building and inside a human body. Coupled with the incessant recurrence of her anxieties, these instincts were enough to drive her to distraction. As Wolfsbane, not only would the insistent lupine instincts be fulfilled, but she would be free from the pointless, endless negative thoughts – free just to be. But it was not only her parents and her childhood that she had lost in that one night – they had taken away her trust in herself and the control over her powers and, and with it, Rahne reflected bitterly, they had taken the one thing had made her truly happy. She longed for the freedom and simplicity of the wolf, but at the same time she was still afraid of what she might do, and whether she would be able to come back.

Trapped in her unrelieved obsessions and with an increasingly negative and angry mindset, Rahne swore that she would repay the people who had done this to her parents and to her. And so when Sean found her one afternoon and informed her that someone from the mainland had come to see her, her first reaction was a point-blank refusal to have anything to do with them. Eventually Sean managed to prevail upon her to at least see meet with the visitor, but as she followed him grudgingly through the corridors she was already inventing ways to get rid of this unwelcome intruder.

Still occupied in her schemes, she was somewhat surprised by the person who was waiting for her – it was Tony, looking more or less the same as he ever had, longish brown hair as tangled as ever, but his normally open face was creased in a slight frown and a decided hint of nervousness was wafting from him. Despite her vow of revenge, Rahne was still hurt that someone who had been her friend was now scared of being near her. But Tony's nervousness evaporated on seeing her, replaced by a scent of relief. "Rahne! Thank god ye're okay!" he exclaimed.

Rahne froze him with a glare. How dare he pretend he was worried about her! "Somehow I don't think God had anything to do with it," she retorted coldly. "I'm a demon remember? Someone that needs to be destroyed by the cleansing flames?" She watched with a sort of sadistic pleasure as her friend's face crumpled into an expression of hurt confusion, but her satisfaction was unaccountably mixed with a tinge of regret.

"Rahne… he's – he isna like that," Tony protested. "God, I mean. You've just got ta have faith, and trust in him. He has a…"

"A plan?" Rahne snarled, cutting him off in mid-sentence as her anger – at the people who did this, at God, at everything boiled over. "What sort of plan involves letting people burn to death?" Years of faith had been destroyed for her, in one single night. God had done nothing, if indeed he was anything more than the Reverend's great stooge. "I have nothing to say to you," she declared, struggling to keep her voice impersonal, and turned to walk out of the room.

"Rahne, wait…," he pleaded, but she walked toward the door without a backward glance. She was a few metres down the hall before Sean caught up with her.

"Wait a minute there, Rahne," he said, grabbing hold of her wrist and spinning her around to face him. "Where do y' think y're going?"

"I told you – I don't have anything to say to him, or anyone else from Ullapool for that matter," she replied. "I don't want to see any of them after what they did."

"That's fine, lass," the Irishman replied. "But y' need t' talk t' that boy in there – I think y' might find it'll be worth your time."

"I don't see how," Rahne said, fighting back the urge to yell at him. It was a battle which she lost very quickly. "What's he going to say? Sorry, we killed your parents and ruined your life? It wasn't just Reverend Craig burning me, ye know! They were all there, all taking part – even if they didn't want to they were just too cowardly to tell him where to go! They…." But then in the middle of her rant she remembered that there had been one person who had stood up for her apart from her parents that night, risking calling down the wrath of the Reverend upon himself. Tony had argued for her in front of the gathering mob – she owed him a chance to explain himself at the least.

……

She re-entered the room somewhat sheepishly. The anger and resentment was still there, but her upbringing had been strict enough to make her feel ashamed of her earlier rudeness. "I'm sorry," she told Tony stiffly, trying to keep herself removed from all the emotions that seeing her old friend had engendered. "What did you want to say?"

The distant, unfriendly tone of her voice seemed to hit him physically – Rahne could smell the sudden stab of pain that radiated from him. She watched silently as he made an obvious effort to control himself, taking a deep breath. Finally, in a voice that sounded smaller and quieter than she remembered, he spoke: "Why did ye never tell me, Rahne?"

Whatever she had been expecting, that wasn't it. She stared open-mouthed for a few seconds before managing a bitter reply. "What was I supposed to say? Yoe know those demons everyone's scared of? Well, I'm one of them. You saw what happened when… when they found out…," voice breaking, she trailed off.

"And ye thought I'd be just like all the others in the village?" There was a definite note of accusation in the question. "I thought ye knew me better than that, Rahne. I thought I was your friend."

"And I thought Claire was mine." She'd meant that to be a sarcastic rejoinder, to maintain her stony, aloof manner. But her voice betrayed her, the words coming out barely above a whisper. Before she knew it, tears were rolling down her face again. She made a half-hearted effort to wipe them away, but Tony crossed the room and somewhat awkwardly put an arm around her. Rahne accepted it silently, relieved at that moment to have someone whose friendship was given unreservedly.

Neither said anything until her tears finally dried. Rahne apologised again, sincerely this time. "I'm sorry for being so rude to you."

Tony shrugged, smiling at her. "It's nae problem. I'm just glad ye're alright."

"Mostly alright, anyway," she replied wryly, with more nonchalance than she actually felt. She knew she was not even close to being alright – but she could also accept now that it wasn't Tony's fault. "So what happened to you that night?" she asked, changing the subject. "After…." She couldn't bring herself to say it. After they started hunting me.

"Well, um…," he began, as hesitant in talking about the events as she was. "After… after I shouted at the Reverend, my family got me out of there. They could see where it was all headin', the mob and all that, and they wanted nae part of it." Rahne felt a surge of anger – they hadn't taken part, but they'd done nothing to help her, had they? But she forced herself to remember about the spell the Minister had cast over the rest of the village. Her parents had fought back, and look what happened to them – it took some courage even to resist taking part in the mob. "When we got back home, Jamie called the police," he continued. "They said they'd put their mutant relations team on it, or something." So that was how Sean and Moira knew. Rahne mentally apologised for being angry at the MacLeods – that phone call had saved her life. "And then we just sat up and waited." Tony said, sounding rather unhappy. "I'm sorry I didna do anythin', ye know. Truly. But, I… I just… there wasna…," he trailed off on that somewhat lame note of apology.

"It's okay," she reassured him, truthfully. "Ye did more than anyone else."

"Aye, but…." His scent was heavy with remorse and self-disgust.

"Look, it's done now Ton – ye can't do anything about it anymore." Even if she couldn't follow it herself, some of the wolf world view was still there. "What happened next – after I was gone?"

"Aye, well that Irish guy who lives here – Sean is it? – came back ta the village the next day and had a wee chat with us. Said he knew it was the Reverend who was behind it all, but that didna excuse what happened."

"Did he arrest them?" Rahne asked – she'd heard next to nothing about the events that had occurred during her period as a wolf.

"Nae – but I'm not sure why," said Tony. "Maybe it was too hard ta tell who did what. Or maybe there was no one ready to testify to say that it was arson, because they were all in on it. He was looking for the Reverend, but that snake had disappeared completely – must have escaped in all the confusion after they took ye away."

Rahne's anger resurfaced. "He can try running, but I'm going to kill him," she said, her voice tight with the desire for revenge. "I'm going to repay what he did to my parents. What they all did." Even she was surprised at the steadiness of her tone – she wasn't calm, but rather controlled, her anger channelling into a directed purpose as she uttered the resolution. "They all need to be punished."

"They already are," Tony replied. "Everything that happened – it's ripped the guts out of the town, Rahne. People dinna talk ta each other – they canna even look each other in the eye. The community's torn ta pieces – it just doesna exist anymore. There's nothing ta connect them now, except guilt."

Tony had always been the peacemaker among the young people of Ullapool – trying to smoothe frayed tempers and keep everyone talking to each other. The situation now must have been a nightmare for him and Rahne thought she could see the strain in his face. She almost wished she could do something about it, to help him. Almost. "Aye, well, they deserve it," she retorted angrily, the desire to punish the villagers winning out over wanting to help her friend. "You know what they did – do you think they're paying enough? Do you think the Reverend's paying enough? Do you think…." She couldn't bring herself to say Claire's name. "I'm going to kill him," she repeated instead.

"Ye dinna want ta do that. Ye're better than that," he pleaded with her, almost desperately.

"Nay, I'm not. You weren't there – you didn't see what I did, what I tried to do." She felt the beginnings of hysteria within her as she continued, riding right over her friend's attempts at placation. "And now I can't control the wolf – I can't even transform because if I do, I can't come back. I'm stuck here, Ton. I'm stuck…." She burst into tears once more.

"Hush now," he told her, hugging her again, still a little awkward. "Ye can control it. Ye're better than that." He repeated it, over and over, until she calmed down again.

But after he left Rahne still wasn't sure that she was, that she could control it. She went and sat outside on the moors, trying to will the transformation – but nothing happened. She knew inside that she was still too scared to let herself go.


	21. Mission

Rahne recognised the distinctive whine of the helicopter immediately. She was out on the landing field and waiting expectantly before the rotors had even stopped spinning. A figure stepped down from the cockpit and was mobbed by an enthusiastic wolf girl before walking two paces. "Betsy! You're back!"

"Whoa there, Sparky.…" Betsy disentangled herself from the younger girl, but she was grinning. "Did you miss me by any chance?"

"You've been gone for over a week!" Rahne said accusingly, but she laughed along with Betsy at her own impatience. The opportunity to have someone else to talk to and take her mind off everything was too much of a relief to allow any resentment at Betsy's extended absence for the moment.

"Yeah, sorry about that, luv," said Betsy. "Been tied up on a shoot in London."

It was still odd for Rahne to imagine cynical, down-to-earth, purple-haired Betsy as a successful fashion model, but it was undeniable that she had all the self-assurance and poise required. And the extremely healthy ego….

"Oi! I heard that!" Betsy still often refused to be bound by any moral standards regarding telepathy. But perhaps she had been reading more deeply than Rahne's surface thoughts, because after a moment's silence she asked quietly: "How've you been, luv?"

Rahne hesitated, her good mood snuffed out just as suddenly as it had appeared. She didn't feel like discussing her mental state. But there was no point in anything other than honesty when talking to a telepath. "Not so good," she admitted. Tony had stopped her spiralling black thoughts for a time, and she felt better knowing that she still had at least one friend in Ullapool, but his visit hadn't removed any of the underlying causes of her depression: her parents were still dead, her home was still gone, Reverend Craig was still free. And her powers were still locked away.

……

It was a mark of the novelty of Betsy's visit that she and Rahne found Teresa waiting for them when they entered the building. There were very few things these days that could separate the Irish girl from her books. And when Moira appeared at the other end of the hallway, Rahne wondered if the other residents of Muir Island had been waiting for a distraction from their obsessions just as much as she had. But her foster mother paused only briefly to give Betsy a distracted greeting before kissing Rahne on the top of the head, saying goodbye and hurrying out the door to the helicopter, murmuring to herself all the while.

"Where's she off to?" asked Teresa.

"Moisy's going to be an expert witness for the Jono Starsmore trial," Betsy informed them. "She's got a meeting with the defense lawyer." So that was it, Rahne thought bitterly. Betsy was just here to babysit the dangerous depressed girl while Moira was away, just because they were still scared…. _Stop that luv!_ Betsy spoke in her mind._ Even you don't really believe more than half of it, and I wanted to come anyway_.

"Did you do something?" Teresa asked Betsy. "I mean, Moira barely said a word to you – why was she so rude?"

That wasn't right. Rahne shook her head. "She wasn't annoyed. She was distracted, and worried, and… scared?" She frowned, confused. Her foster-mother's scent had been a jumble of so many different elements that she'd barely noticed at the time, but it had been there – the brittle note of fear. She'd smelled that particular scent too much to mistake it for anything else.

Betsy eyed her with a considering grasp. "Not bad, Sparky. You sure you're not telepathic?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Well, you guys know about…," she paused, and Rahne could have almost sworn she felt a light brush on her mind. "Oh. You don't. Well, it's not my place to tell." Rahne and Teresa shared a questioning glance. The older girl hesitated, as though weighing up her words. "People getting hurt by mutants who can't control their powers just always gets Moira worried," she said finally. "She's devoted her life to studying mutants, to showing that we're not a threat. This kind of thing endangers all her work." Rahne frowned - Betsy wasn't precisely lying – her scent was clean of the stink of a lie - but Rahne knew there was something that she wasn't telling. The fear that she'd smelled on Moira wasn't that of a scientist, however devoted, worrying about their work – it had been personal.

"What's it like on the mainland at the moment?" Teresa inquired once they'd got into the kitchen, their traditional place of conversation. She and Rahne both looked at Betsy expectantly – neither of them had been inclined to watch the news reports after Carson's display and they were consequently starved for current events.

"Well I won't lie luv, it's not good," Betsy replied. "This whole Jono Starsmore incident's sent everyone into a right panic – seeing dangerous mutants everywhere, worrying they'll all be murdered in their beds, that type of thing. Brian's been doing his hero deal, trying to create a positive image for mutants, but…," she stopped short, eyes focused inward, listening to some unheard voice. "…Well, speak of the devil – that's Bri." She cocked her head, as though receiving instructions. "He's got a situation in Liverpool that's getting nasty, and he needs some help."

It took less than ten minutes for Betsy and Teresa to alert Sean and get the official Excalibur jet prepped and ready to launch. Rahne trailed after the others in a daze, unsure of what to do. She and the other New Recruits had always kept out of the way when the X-men were preparing for missions. Not wanting to disturb anyone's concentration, she hung back and wondered what kind of situation would make Captain Britain, the champion of the Islands, call for help.

"Rahne! You coming luv?" Betsy yelled, jerking her back into the present. She hesitated, but the older girl grabbed her hand and pulled her into the jet.

"So what exactly is going on, Psylocke?" Sean asked as Betsy fed him the co-ordinates for their destination from whatever connection she was maintaining with her brother in her mind.

"I'm not a hundred percent sure, to be honest," she replied. "Bri was in some bar watching the FA cup when the game went to hell – Liverpool was losing and a bunch of yobbo's decided to take it out on an Asian bloke who was there by himself. Apparently he was ignoring them pretty well till someone called him a 'bloody Paki' or some such. The guy snapped - and blasted out one of the pub's walls. That's when Bri called me, and things went downhill from there, far as I can make out."

Sean gave a low whistle. "I'll bet. But surely Brian can handle a few drunken football fans by himself? What's he doin' in a pub anyway?"

"Captain Britain involved in a bar room brawl? Not good for publicity…," Betsy retorted. "As for why he was there in the first place: who knows? Maybe he just wants to rub shoulders with the common folk every once and a while, or maybe my brother's a flaming alcoholic…."

"But why would the other man flip out at being called a 'Paki'?" Rahne asked. It didn't seem a killing insult in the scheme of things.

"He's probably Indian," Sean answered. Comprehension failed to dawn for Rahne. "Put it this way," he continued. "Imagine someone had called y' English… it's pretty much the same idea."

Rahne sat back, appalled. "That's terrible," Teresa exclaimed, her horrified face mirroring Rahne's. Sean nodded, and the three of them shared a mutual shudder at the awfulness of that thought.

Betsy rolled her eyes. "Oh give it a rest, would you? We're not the epitome of evil you know…."

……

The scene that greeted them on one of the backstreets of Northern Liverpool struck a chilling note in Rahne. Outside a gaping hole in a row of terrace buildings a mob had gathered. She could smell the stale scent of dulled anger emanating from the crowd. There was little fear, any apprehension sparked by the violent display of the mutant's power having been drowned by the haze of alcohol. But the pub's patrons seemed to still have some measure of the sober virtue of prudence – they had surrounded the mutant, whose dark complexion contrasted strongly with the pale skins of his drunken aggressors, but there was a wide ring of empty space between him and the mob, well-defined by a series of scorch marks burned deep into the street. The mutant's right hand was raised threateningly, but the other arm hung limp at his side. Neither he nor the mob made any overt moves. Still, the signs were there – the situation was poised: one spark and the mob would erupt, fire blasts or no fire blasts.

"Where's Brian?" Sean asked briskly, surveying the scene.

"In the building," Betsy replied. She looked down at the two strange looking helmets she had taken from the jet. "Well, he'll just have to cover his ears… Rahne, you put this on." She handed one of the helmets to the Scottish girl, and then slipped the other onto her head.

"But why?" Rahne asked, looking down at the oddly padded metal shell.

Betsy didn't seem to hear, but Sean answered. "Shields y' from what we're about t' do." Still not completely understanding, Rahne slipped the helmet on. She watched as Sean nodded at Teresa, then the two opened their mouths.

No sound made it through the helmet, but the effects of the sonic screams were obvious. The crowd froze suddenly, the restless shifting of the mob instantly quelled and the mutant's wary circling stopped dead. Sean pushed his way through the crowd, who offered no more resistance than crash-test dummies, and lifted the unresponsive mutant onto his shoulders. He called out something, but no sound reached Rahne.

_Hey luv, you can take the helmet off now._ Rahne turned to look at Betsy, who had already shed her own helmet, and sheepishly removed the sound-dampening headgear.

Noise rushed back into the world – the rushing sound of her own breathing, the distant drone of cars and the hum of the industrial centres, the rustle of air as Sean walked past still carrying the unconscious man and the ominous rumble nearby… wait… what ominous rumble? Rahne looked around, frantically trying to pinpoint the sound without pointed ears designed for aural triangulation.

Her eyes came to rest on the remains of the ruined pub. The street wall had a two metre-wide hole blown out of it, but the rest of the building had held so far. However, it appeared that the strain was taking its toll on the old stone edifice. Rahne could see the beginnings of stress cracks running along the remaining structure. She stood transfixed, watching the lines run and grow…. What if Brian was still in there? She reassured herself that Captain Britain's force field could protect him from a collapsing wall, but then she noticed something else. Standing paralysed beside the gap in the wall, another man was in danger from the imminent collapse of the building.

Rahne was close enough to save him – at least she was if she transformed. One leap to grab him, push him out of the way with her lupine strength – that was all it would take. Just like she'd done for Claire. Yes, just like she'd done for Claire, a treacherous voice reminded her. And what had happened then?

With a deceptively small shower of dust, the damaged wall began to crumble. The man stayed standing where he was, trapped in the path of the masonry by whatever sonic pulse Banshee and Siryn had emitted. And Rahne froze.

* * *

**_NB:_**_ Another canon character here, but I'll introduce him later. And the bit about Betsy being a fashion model is canon too, and it made me laugh for some reason, so I chucked it in. (Obviously this is a very thoughtfully crafted story, huh? Yeah right)._


	22. Introduction

She watched, rooted to the spot as the brickwork plummeted down, about to smash onto the pavement and the street and that man's head and…. But the falling masonry never reached the paralysed rioter. An intense, almost solid burst of sound collided with the blocks and shattered them, leaving the man covered from head to toe in a reddish coating of brick dust.

"Rahne? Are you alright?" Teresa's voice reached her through her frozen state. "Oh god, none of it hit you did it? I wasn't sure I was going to be able to smash all that stuff in time, and…." She kept on talking, but Rahne couldn't make any of it out.

"You… you saved him?" she managed, still feeling slightly out of place, removed from the reality of the events. "I… how did you know?"

"Betsy told me. She's precognitive, some of the time at least." Teresa told her. "You know, she can see what's going to happen?" Rahne looked back at her blankly, not registering the explanation. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine," Rahne lied. In truth she was feeling as shattered as the former wall that was now finely dispersed over the ground in front of her and she just wanted to crawl into a den somewhere and hide from the world, but situations like this didn't work that way.

"Oi, Rahne! I need you over here!" Betsy shouted from atop the pile of debris that was once the Shire Arms pub of Northern Liverpool. Rahne nodded mutely and slowly walked over toward the telepath.

"What did you want?" she asked.

"I need some help with recovery. Banshee's dealing with the mutant we picked up, Siryn's helping get rid of the rubble, but I need you to help me locate the survivors." This was not flippant sarcastic Betsy. It was Psylocke, all business and utterly focused. "Brian's underneath all this somewhere – he's okay, I've got mental contact with him, and I can sense a couple more in there that are still conscious, but I don't know how many others there are that aren't, and if they're out cold I can't find them using telepathy." She took a deep breath. "I need you to locate them for me."

Rahne stared at her blankly, trying to marshal her thoughts through the scrambling confusion in her head. "How?"

"Scent, sound, however works best. We need your wolf senses."

Once again the cloying fear gripped her at the thought of using her powers – not just the possibility of losing control, but in front of all these people? These people who'd already shown they would turn into a mob at the sight of a mutant? Visions of being hunted down through the streets ran through her mind, interspersed with memories of her flight across the moors. "I can't," she said in a small voice. "I can't transform."

Betsy gave her a searching look, and Rahne felt the characteristic touch of the older girl delving into her mind. "You've really done a number on yourself, haven't you luv?" she said in a considering tone. "Shit." She sighed. "We don't have the time for this. Your human senses are enhanced these days. Just use them."

She turned back to the rubble, shouting instructions to Teresa. Rahne stared after for a moment, then shook herself. She'd already stood around enough today. Too much. Crouching down over the pile of fallen bricks she closed her eyes, focusing on the information coming through her nose and ears. Betsy's scent was hanging all over the area, but was there something else? She moved further in, toward what had been the centre of the building. There it was again – the faintest suggestion of a different scent, mingled in amongst the arid smell of brick dust and the lingering aroma of scorched wood. A human scent. It was barely perceptible in this form, just the merest suggestion of a distinct odour, but if she focused on clearing all the other perceptions from her mind, she could sense enough to trace it.

Rahne followed the scent to a section of the heap that seemed on the surface no different than the rest. But she was almost sure that her weaker human nose was correct – there was someone buried underneath this part of the remains. And as she knelt down it was confirmed, there was definitely a human scent in the wreckage.

"Betsy!" she shouted. "Teresa! Over here!" The two girls ran over, followed by a dusty but nevertheless recognisable Brian, newly extracted from the rubble. "I've found someone, I think."

It seemed to take next to no time for Brian and Teresa to remove the debris with their powers. Eventually they got rid of enough of the wreckage to reveal the comatose body of a young man, but Rahne felt only the slightest sense of satisfaction. Betsy crossed over briskly and bent down, checking his pulse. "Bruises, maybe some breaks, but he'll be okay." She shot Rahne an encouraging smile. "I reckon you saved this guy's life, luv." Rahne nodded woodenly. Perhaps she'd helped this man, but what about the one earlier, when the roof collapsed? She'd almost cost him his life, all because she was too frightened to use her powers.

……

They were back in the jet and on the way to Muir Island almost before she realised she'd even moved from the scene. Rahne sat with her knees hunched up to her chin, not wanting to have to talk to anyone. No one paid her much attention, which suited her mood perfectly. She wasn't in disgrace, precisely, at least not with the others - that much she knew from her nose. But at the moment they had other things to worry about, like the unconscious mutant they had abducted.

"What did you do? Did you knock him out? When's he going to wake up?" Betsy asked Sean as she and Teresa attempted to sit the young man up.

"One – we paralysed his nervous system, two - nay and t'ree – I think…," Sean glanced down at his watch, "…about now." Sure enough, the man stirred, eyes fluttering as he began to try to stretch muscles stiffened from lack of use. He surveyed his surroundings with a considering eye.

"One minute I'm being attacked by twenty drunken football fans, now I'm being kidnapped and ministered to by beautiful women?" It was said with a laugh, although Rahne could smell a tinge of brassy confusion and nervousness beneath the bravado. "Not that I'm complaining about the company, but what just happened to me?"

"I'll get on t' that in a minute, boyo'," Sean growled brusquely. "But first, we've got a few questions fer y'."

"I'd prefer to have her explain," the man countered, with a suggestive smile for Betsy.

"Cool it, Romeo." Sean warned. He proceeded to fire questions in full police sergeant mode. "Name?"

"Neal Sharra." The reply was crisp and official, the response of an officer to a superior, but his stare was not fixed on his interrogator.

"Powers?"

"I can create super-heated plasma. Most of the time I can control it too." He smiled apologetically, but apparently Sean was in no mood for humour.

"Where're you from, Sharra?"

"Liverpool."

At this point Betsy, who had been following the conversation intently while trying to appear nonchalant, interrupted. "Hang on a tic - that's a lie!"

"Are you reading my mind?" Neal asked. "Don't." She glared at him, but said nothing more. "I've been in Liverpool since I was fifteen," he explained. No irritation showed in his voice or scent, but he had a challenging stare for the purple-haired telepath. "But I was born in Delhi."

Apparently satisfied, Sean explained in some detail about Excalibur, their status as mutants and each of their powers, although he glossed over Rahne's. The 'prisoner' listened carefully to the Irishman's account, finally pronouncing it to be 'interesting'. "And what do you plan to do with me now?"

"Y're coming with us t' Muir Island so we can make sure y've taken no serious harm in all the excitement today. That arm looks like it might need a bit o' attention. After that, yer welcome t' stay or go as y' see fit."

"An extremely tempting offer," Neal replied, eyes still resting on Betsy and tracking over her body speculatively.

"Why the move?" she asked suddenly. Rahne was slightly shocked to see that her friend was actually respecting the man's privacy enough to not simply use her telepathy to discover the answer.

"There was nothing there for me anymore," he answered with a frozen finality that left even Betsy momentarily speechless. He turned away, looking fixedly out the window. There was silence for a few uncomfortable seconds. But with a shrug of his shoulders Neal smiled again and turned back. "But Britain's already looking promising." Rahne was sure she saw him wink at Betsy.

"Be careful what you wish for," the English girl replied, smirking back at him flirtatiously. "You don't know what you might get yourself into.…"

It looked like Neal wanted to follow this line of conversation further, but he changed tack abruptly after Sean cleared his throat with pointed menace. "Actually, I thought it was about time an Indian made his fortune out of the sweat of the English instead of the other way around." This comment brought amused smiles and nods from of the majority of the jet's crew, although Betsy let out a theatrical groan.

"Bloody hell, what is it with you people today? Enough with the English bashing already! You know you're all just sore losers because we conquered you and not the other way around...." But the protest was no more than half-hearted and she trailed off, staring at the young man who once again had his eyes locked on her.

Rahne had to turn away and bury her nose in the leather seat, trying to breathe in any remnants of fumes from the preservatives – the pungent smell of attraction wafting off the two was strong enough to be sickening. They seemed transfixed, and Rahne heard Sean comment under his breath, too quietly for any but her ears to pick up, that this was the first time he'd ever seen someone make Betsy shut up for more than a second. It looked like the telepath was going to be spending a lot more time at Muir Island in the future.

……

Moira was already waiting for them as they came into land, standing out on the landing field silhouetted in the fading light. Rahne noticed absently how small and alone her foster mother looked against the rugged expanse of moor and sea and cliffs.

Teresa was still bubbling over with post-mission enthusiasm. "We've rescued a new mutant!" she called as they descended from the jet. "He's called Neal, and he creates plasma, and…," she stopped short when she saw the blank, empty expression on Moira's face.

"What is it?" Sean asked, his gruff voice tinged with concern.

The scientist looked at him and sighed. "They're charging him with murder, Sean," she replied in a weary tone, shoulders drooping down in an admission of defeat. "Jonothan Starsmore. Butler tried to argue for manslaughter at the least, but they're out for blood. The trial's set to start a week from today."

* * *

**_NB:_**_ So, there we go. Like he said – Neal Sharra, plasma blasts. In the comics he was Thunderbird III, but that's a whole long weird story which I'm putting aside for now at least. As always, the back story is changed a bit, but the flirting with Psylocke thing was totally not my invention, I swear! Just another of those random canon facts that make me laugh._

_Betsy's precognition is also canon, although she lost it along the years. I always thought that was a pity._


	23. Attempt

"Okay luv, just relax. We'll give it another go in a minute." Obediently, Rahne opened her eyes and tried to ease some of the tension in her muscles. Betsy hadn't forgotten about her breakdownin Liverpool, announcing shortly after that she was going to stay at Muir Island for a while to help Rahne 'sort herself out'.

If at first Rahne had wondered whether it was a simple excuse to spend more time with the new resident, Neal, she had soon been disabused of that notion. Betsy had quickly forced her into daily sessions in which she tried to untangle Rahne's thoughts. But though the basic idea was similar to classic psychoanalysis, Betsy's methods bore little resemblance to standard psychiatric therapy, being a little more direct.

"Right luv. Are you ready to go again?" Rahne nodded, resigned to these seemingly never-ending intrusions into her mind. Taking a deep breath, she shut her eyes and allowed Betsy to place her hands lightly over her temples.

_Okay. Here we go…_

The walls of the small room, the minimal furnishings, even the sides of her head seemed somehow to fall away, leaving her standing with Betsy on a blank open plain populated with impossibly convoluted shapes and structures. The telepath had called it a psychic projection of her mind, but it was disturbing for Rahne to have to associate these garish, unsettling surroundings with her own thoughts.

_I want to take another look at the blocks you've put up,_ Betsy told her. _You've locked your powers away behind these barriers, and they'll need to come down before you can deal with everything properly._

Rahne sighed, and reluctantly tried to focus her thoughts toward the blocks that Betsy had pointed out to her – walls she had erected herself. The vivid landscape rippled as though preparing to shift position, but then with a waver it settled back into its original form. _I can't do this Betsy._

_You can luv. _The telepath's mental voice was insistent. _It's not that hard._

_Well then you do it! _Despite herself, Rahne couldn't hold back the burst of frustration.

_I could. If I wanted to, I could break through them for you – but in the long run that wouldn't help you luv. You wouldn't have dealt with whatever's causing them. Outside solutions seem simple, I know – having someone else fix you so that everything's okay – but when it's your mind, the easiest way out is almost never the best. I can help you with this, but in the end you've got to do it for yourself to make it effective._

_Fine._Again she sat back, concentrating on imagining a regular breathing pattern to try to steady herself, although oxygen was hardly an issue in this place. Finally, feeling some approximation of centeredness, she tried once more to focus on the blocks. She thought she could sense them now, seemingly just out of sight, around some non-existent corner on her open mental landscape. And this time the surroundings shifted, melting together and reforming into different shapes. Solid, high, imposing shapes.

_Excellent._ Betsy had moved too, with a lack of effort that Rahne noted with resigned jealousy. _You've found them. Now take a closer look._

Rahne moved forward to examine the wall in front of her. At first it appeared to be uniform, a harmonized riot of colour blending and swirling through a smooth surface, but closer scrutiny revealed distinct forms in the confusion, obviously separate from the other components while still linked to them. _What are they?_

_Look closer again._ Rahne obeyed, curiosity getting the better of her. Focussing all her attention on one of the individual forms inside the wider pattern, she thought that she could make out something more within the flash and swirl of colour. The form resolved itself into a human figure, at once strange and somehow familiar. Compellingly familiar – she extended her hand toward the wall, trying to touch it.

Behind her, Betsy let out the beginning of a warning, but it was too late, her fingers had made contact with the surface of the wall. The colours started to swirl around her, and then with a jolt, she felt a surge of something akin to energy. Images poured through her, implacable and inexorable, battering relentlessly. There were voices, snatches of speech running around and through the visions, interspersed with flashes of fire and crowds and fear. _Demon… Sent to us by Satan… We love you for everything you are… The Lord has a plan… Demon… We're here to protect you… There isna anything ye can do for a demon… Bestial, dangerous menace… We trust you lass… An inhuman creature that knows nothing but violence… We're here to protect you… Demon… Scourge… Divine punishment… Eliminate sin… Cleansing scourge of flame… Eradicate all traces… Run lass…we'll be okay… Eradicate all traces… Eradicate the devil spawn… Demon… Demon… Demon.... _

For a moment Rahne struggled against the current of memories, fighting to break through, but she was overwhelmed, weighed down by the force of so much aggregated fear. It was everywhere, all around her, locking her in, and she was losing her hold….

……

She opened her eyes and found herself back in the small room at the Research Centre, just as bare and plain as it had been before. Betsy was still sitting across from her, seemingly as composed as always, but smelling a good deal more worried than Rahne had ever seen her before. "Good, you're back luv." Was that a note of relief in her voice?

Rahne frowned, trying to gather her fractured thoughts together. "What happened?"

"I pulled you back out here - you got too close to the block. Sorry, should've warned you about that. You tried to engage with it without being prepared, and then you couldn't control it - It caused a feedback overload, basically funnelling everything that created the block in the first place right back through you all at once. But all you need to do is to…."

"There isn't anything I need to do, Betsy," Rahne interrupted. "I can't do it. You saw what happened. I couldn't control anything. I'm sorry. I know you and Moira and everyone else want me to get through this, but I can't. I just can't…." She was on the verge of tears.

The English girl gave her a searching look. "You know you're not doing it for us, luv," she said quietly. "You should be doing it for yourself. And I _know_ you can do it." Rahne stared back at her helplessly, feeling to defeated even to reply. Another probing glance and Betsy seemed to change her mind. "But not today, eh? We'll give it a rest for now, until you think you're ready to try it again." Rahne nodded, although she didn't think she'd ever be ready to try that again.

Perhaps the telepath heard that thought, but she said nothing more about it, instead getting to her feet with a new fresh smile. "Anyway, we'd better bust a move – got to get to the trial to see Moisy's moment of stardom…."

……

The public gallery was already nearly full by the time the members of Excalibur arrived. While Sean took Neal off to be introduced to one of his colleagues from Interpol on the far side of the gallery, the girls took seats in the front row at Betsy's insistence (and quite probably manipulation of some earlier arrivals).

The courtroom was laid out below them – the judge and the barristers, arrayed in wig and robes, the twelve members of the jury already seated, and sitting in the dock, his back to the public, the centre of all the attention: Jonathon Starsmore. He was dressed in a non-descript suit, and with the slightly overgrown shaggy brown hair and the defeated slump of his shoulders, it hardly seemed as though this boy was the cause of all the panic and public outrage which had gripped the country.

"Is that him?" Teresa whispered. "He hardly seems dangerous…."

Starsmore's barrister Joseph Butler rose and approached the jury to open the defence's case. Rahne let the words, heavy with legal jargon and light on actual meaning sweep past, focusing instead on the faces and the scents of the people around her. Curiosity and fear, for the most part, but she could detect an unmistakeable shaft of hatred amongst it, which chilled her.

"He may not seem dangerous, but then neither do we," Betsy pointed out. "Anyway, appearances aren't all they're cracked up to be. I want a closer look."

"You're going to read his mind?" Teresa was slightly incredulous. "Isn't that interference with the trial?"

"Why not? I want to know what's going on in our boy's head…." And with that, Betsy raised a hand to her head and narrowed her eyes, focussing on the figure in the dock. A moment later she let out a gasp, and slammed back into her seat, eyes widening in something between shock and disbelief. "He's…," she began, but faltered, staring wordlessly at the boy's back.

"He's what?" Teresa whispered.

Betsy, still speechless, raised her hand slightly to point toward the figure in the dock. Almost as though he was aware of the inquisitive stares, Starsmore turned around, and looked directly toward the three girls. His brown eyes seemed to Rahne to cut directly through her, skipping all the usual intermediaries of facade and appearance, but that wasn't what had her gaping back open-mouthed.

Down to the nose, Starsmore's face was ordinary except for those piercing eyes, but below that… there was nothing. No mouth, no jaw, no neck – even the upper part of his chest was missing, replaced instead by a swirling black energy which seemed, unaccountably, to be pulsing. She tried to force back her reflexive shudder, while all the while the eyes continued to bore through, reading her.

_Hello, _a male voice rang in their heads, sliding between a shout and a whisper as though its owner was not completely sure of what he was doing. _Who are you?_

* * *

**_NB:_**_ There you go – for all of you (any of you?) who were wondering about Jono's powers… they are the amazing powers of having no face! No, okay, telepathy and biokinetic force blasts, which for some reason decided to rip apart his chest on the way out. Go figure._

_And another non-canon character whose name deserves a bit of explanation this time. Joseph Butler comes from Josephine Butler, a 19th century activist who worked for the repeal of the Contagious Diseases Acts (very nasty pieces of legislation about prostitution and things and hugely discriminatory). She was successful too, despite huge odds. See… reading fan fiction makes you learn stuff!_


	24. Conversation

Had she really heard that voice? Rahne turned to the others for confirmation, and found it through her nose – matching flickers of surprise shaded the two girls' scents.

_Hello,_ Betsy replied, relaying her projection to the two younger girls. _I'm Betsy Braddock. And these two are Teresa O'Rourke and Rahne Sinclair. We…_

_Let me guess…, _the voice interrupted, heavy with sarcasm. _You three are the poster girls for mutants in Britain. Come to show support for the freakish murdering mutant, have you?_ Jono's mental voice laughed bitterly. _I must be privileged._

_It wasn't deliberate, _Betsy told him emphatically. _I can tell that much. You shouldn't be facing a murder charge._

_Reading my mind? _He was silent for a second, and when he picked up again the tone had lost the edge of resentment. Instead it was flat, devoid of any emotion. _Doesn't really matter, she's just as dead as if I had meant to do it. Isn't that right… Rahne?_

She wanted to say something, anything in reply. But the boy's fatalistic reasoning was a little too close to some of the black thoughts that chased each other around in her head. Even if you didn't mean to do it, it wouldn't change the fact that a person, people, had died because of you. It wasn't something you could just make go away. She dropped her eyes guiltily, looking away from the piercing stare, but she could still feel his presence in her mind.

"Hey luv, heads up. Moira's about to give her evidence." Betsy whispered, breaking the awkward moment. Rahne followed her gaze to see her foster mother, tiny, inconsequential compared to the imposing surroundings of the courtroom, but sitting with an obvious inner composure that Rahne wished she could feel just a fraction of.

"You know what I'm wondering?" asked Teresa, as she stared intently at the scene below while Butler began his questions. "We just saw him opening the case for the defence – and now Moira's the first witness called. Why start with her? I mean, why isn't…."

_Why isn't it me up there giving evidence? _Jono asked. Something in the way it was phrased gave the question a sneering quality._ Would've thought smart girls like you would've figured that out already. My testimony would be worth bugger all to a jury, even if I was allowed to give it._

_Why? You're the defendant… you're not allowed to give testimony?_

_How would I give it? In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not really equipped to vocalise anymore – what would I do, speak into their heads? It'd scare them shitless - and anyway, it's against all the good old established customs of this 'esteemed and honourable' court._

_But surely they can't deny you the right to speak for yourself? _Teresa protested.

_Quite the idealist, aren't you? In case you hadn't noticed in your cosy little protected life, the laws in this spiffing old country aren't set up to deal with mutants. _He snorted. _Anyway, who cares what they want to do? I certainly don't. _There was something forced in the flippancy of that comment, Rahne thought – a thin veneer of cynicism overlying the emptiness of abject despondency. Jono had given up. She recognised the feelings of apathy.

_So you can't talk anymore? _Betsy asked, with typical bluntness. It seemed that he had enough control of his powers to keep her from prying through his mind for answers.

_What would I talk with? This great bloody hole full of energy where my mouth should be? _Rahne could feel his anger as irritation flared momentarily. _Nope. Can't talk, can't eat, can't breathe – don't even have a pulse anymore, since I don't have a heart. _Apparently he thought that idea was amusing, because he let out another mental snort. _Must not be able to feel anything anymore if I don't have a heart, right? I've moved beyond that. I'm a 'mutant', _he added in a singsong voice. _The ideal prisoner: cheap to feed, doesn't make noise, doesn't get involved with all the other criminals – they're all too frickin scared to come near the guy with the gaping black hole where his chest should be…_

_But you could cover it up, couldn't you? _Teresa asked.

_What, is it too disturbing for you? You want me to wrap my face up with bandages so I don't go around scaring all you people with happy families and sensitive stomachs? I could do that, but it wouldn't change the fact that I'm not a whole person underneath the wrappings, would it? I'd still be broken – just a shell of someone who used to exist._

He was silent after that, and none of the girls felt up to the task of restarting the conversation. Instead, Rahne found her attention drawn back to the court proceedings, where Moira was in the midst of explaining something.

"...Expression of the active form of the x-gene usually begins some time during adolescence – but the emergence of the phenotypic effects, or 'mutant powers' stemming from the gene may be delayed in a particular individual. A number of factors influence the onset of active powers – family history, physical trauma, and especially emotional stress. But the correlation is far from perfect – it is still impossible to predict when and how a mutation will manifest, especially for the individual concerned. They do not expect to be suddenly gifted with abilities, they do not understand what is happening to them, and at the moment of manifestation they almost certainly will not have any control over their new found abilities."

"Would you say that the blast on the afternoon of June 15th marked the first manifestation of Jonathon Starsmore's powers?" asked Butler.

"I think that considering the rather obvious physical impact Jonathon's power has had on him, his abilities would have been noticed if they had emerged earlier," Moira replied dryly, although the irony seemed mostly lost on the members of the jury. Rahne noticed a number of shudders as they looked over at the boy in the dock.

"So in your professional opinion, Dr MacTaggert, Jonathon Starsmore could not have been in control of the blast that killed Gayle Edgarton?"

"Exactly."

Butler turned to the jury. "On the day of Gayle's tragic death, Jonathon Starsmore had no idea he even possessed such destructive abilities, much less how to use them. The blast could not have been deliberate – Jonathon did not intend to harm Gayle, and therefore he cannot be found guilty of murder."

As Edward Carson rose to begin cross-examining Moira, Rahne noticed the shaft of hatred she had smelt earlier billow and intensify, identifying the Crown Prosecutor as its source. He strode toward the witness stand with all the poised malevolence of a vulture descending on its prey. "Mrs MacTaggert…," he began.

"Dr," Moira snapped automatically.

"Of course, Dr MacTaggert. Please accept my apologies," Carson continued smoothly. Too smoothly – the slip had been deliberate, Rahne decided; an attempt to colour the jury's perceptions of her foster mother's expertise. "_Dr _MacTaggert," he continued carefully emphasising the title with the merest hint of mockery, "you say that the manifestation of mutant powers is often brought on by emotional stress?"

"That is correct."

"Emotional stress – stress brought on by difficult emotional situations – such as an argument with a loved one, perhaps?" He barely waited for Moira's reluctant nod before continuing to address the jury. "You've already heard testimony that describes the problems in the defendant's relationship with the victim. He becomes increasingly frustrated with Gayle, his girlfriend, as she is apparently failing to listen to him. He grows angry at her – angry enough to harm her perhaps? But before he can take any action on these feelings, they take action for him through his powers…."

"Yes, but that's why we need to put in place systems that can identify and provide support for young people who possess the X-gene…," Moira began, but the Crown Prosecutor bore over her.

"This trial is not about changes to social policy, Dr MacTaggert. It's about guilt. You say that on manifestation, no mutant can control his powers, is that correct?" "Yes."

"And yet we are supposed to go about our business as if mutants did not exist? To let these 'people' who are essentially loaded weapons walk around in our midst?"

"In my experience, 99% of mutants can be taught to have full control over their powers."

"99% can be taught to have full control over their powers," he repeated, a dangerous smile lighting his face. "And what about the other 1%? What can we do about them?" And here the smile took on a particularly nasty light which matched the contemptuous glint in his eyes. "What would you do with a mutant who was unable to bring their destructive powers under control if that mutant presented a danger to society? Speaking as a researcher of course… would you consider terminating them?"

Moira said nothing in reply, which puzzled Rahne. But she smelled a flash of outrage from Betsy. "That bastard," the older girl swore, under her breath. Rahne turned to her friend, and saw Teresa, whose hearing was also enhanced, giving the telepath a questioning glance as well, but no explanation was forthcoming.

"Excuse me your honour, but what is the relevance to this line of questioning?" Butler asked. "It bears no relation to the matter at hand."

"True – get to the point, Counsel," the judge intoned.

"My apologies once again," Carson replied smoothly, the smile still curving his lips. "Indeed, the matter at hand – is Jonathon Starsmore guilty of murder?"

"It should be obvious that Jonathon Starsmore is not guilty of murder for an accident which he had no control over," Moira rejoined.

"Accident? You're remarkably blasé about the tragic and horrific death of a bright and talented seventeen year old girl, Dr MacTaggert. Are you suggesting that because a mutant killed Gayle Edgarton, the Court should not concern itself with her death?"

"Of course not," she replied scornfully.

"And yet, when Gayle Edgarton was killed, you and your partner Sean Cassidy attempted to have the mutant who killed her removed from police custody to a private facility for mutants in the middle of nowhere, despite the fact that he had been arrested pending investigation of the charges? Do you have absolutely no respect for the legal system of this country, Dr MacTaggert, or do you merely believe that mutants are above the law?"

"Neither," Moira replied. "Agent Cassidy and I were merely concerned for people's safety – Jonathon Starsmore's most of all."

"And yet you were still ready to go against the law in your concern for this mutant's 'safety'." Carson turned toward the jury. "And here we see why this case is so crucial for our country – there is a tendency to believe that having superhuman powers puts people above the law. But these mutants are not 'superhumans', but dangerous weapons. They believe their powers elevate them above the rest of us – that the same rules do not apply to them. We must show them that this is not the case – we are all 'merely' human. We cannot have different laws for ordinary people and mutants!" He paused triumphantly. "No further questions, your Honour."

_He's jealous of us. _Rahne started at hearing Jono's voice again. _Jealous, and afraid at the same time.__ He's got something planned though, I can see it._

_What? _She asked. _What is it?_

_Who cares? _He asked once again, voice utterly without concern, blank.

The voice faded out once more, leaving her shocked, but also with the first flickers of understanding. Jono really had given up, to the point where what happened to him didn't matter anymore. In her darkest moments, Rahne had never been that far sunk into apathy – she never wanted to be. And at that point, she resolved that she was going to work at her problems, and not be defeated by them.


	25. Change

It is one thing to make a resolution – carrying through with it is quite a different story, as Rahne discovered over the course of the next week. Although she spent as much time as Betsy would allow trying to work through the blocks on her powers, after six days of constant effort the walls in her mind loomed as solid and imposing as ever. Nevertheless she persevered, doggedly battering at the barriers with a stubbornness that alarmed even Moira, for whom absolute dedication to a task was the norm.

On the seventh day after their encounter with Jono, her foster mother put her foot down. "Enough is enough," she declared, intercepting Rahne and Betsy on their way to their session. "I'm not letting you keep on with this, knocking yourself out every ten minutes trying to break these blocks. You need to take a rest from this; it's not doing you any good."

"But I've got to keep going!" Rahne protested. In some way that she couldn't actually express she felt that the quest to regain her powers was the only thing that was keeping her from slipping away completely.

"It's okay, Moira," Betsy assured the frowning scientist. "We need to try another approach on this anyway. I was going to take Rahne on a little excursion today...."

Moira narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Where?"

……

"Ullapool?" Rahne asked with some trepidation as she glanced out the window of the helicopter. "What are we doing here, Betsy? I don't…."

"Relax luv. I know what I'm doing," Betsy replied cheerily, although Rahne thought she heard the suggestion of an additional 'I hope' pass the older girls lips. "Working things out inside your head isn't going anywhere, so I thought you should go directly to the source."

"I swore they'd pay for what they did," Rahne told Betsy as they stepped out of the helicopter. "What they let happen." Oddly, she felt calm. Dangerously calm in fact.

"I know you did, luv, but that doesn't mean you've got to be the one to do it. Like your friend said – they're already being punished by the memory and… well, you'll see."

"It's not enough," Rahne said through gritted teeth, surveying the cluster of houses that marked the beginning of the village. "Not for what happened."

"Maybe not," the telepath agreed, casting a glance in the direction of Rahne's stare. "But try not to go feral on these people yet, okay? I've got to go and do a couple of things, but remember – I'm only a thought away.…" She headed off in the direction of the church, leaving Rahne to her contemplation of the place that had been her home. _I'm keeping an 'eye' on you though - so no rampages, please._

Rahne kept up her watch on the village. There was something in the scene before her that was both utterly familiar and eerily strange, and before she knew what she wanted to do, she found her feet moving, tracing a path that was imprinted at a level beyond instinct. Passing through the central square without realising, she was barely aware of the stares she was attracting from the few people who she passed by. Instead she focused inward, trying to pinpoint the subtle unfamiliarity in the feel of the place while her feet continued on their automatic journey without any conscious guidance.

And then her feet stopped, bringing reality rushing back with all the momentum of a runaway truck on a motorway as she took in her destination. The neat row of stone houses before her stared blankly back, but her attention was fixed elsewhere, on the glaring odd man out in this picture of quaint domesticity. Her house – or rather, the building that had been her house, because there was no way that the charred ruin that stood in front of her now could be described as a place where people could live.

The two stories thick grey granite had endured, remaining impervious to the insatiable appetite of the flames, but the inside of the house had been gutted entirely, leaving nothing but a stone husk of the place where she had grown up. But as she moved closer, drawn by an involuntary desire to inspect the devastation she saw that even the unyielding blocks which she had thought to be so permanent and unchanging had not escaped the fire. Although today the sun had managed to break free from the ever-present clouds and cast its light on the stonework, there was no answering sparkle from the granite. A coat of charcoal had adhered to the surface of the stone, obscuring the natural glitter in a dull grey blanket, apparently impervious even to the incessant Highland rains. In some unaccountable way, that shocked her the most.

"Rahne?" asked a hesitant voice behind her. "Is that ye?"

She spun around, recognising the speaker with a surge of anger. "What are you doing here Jess?" she demanded, the question coming out as a snarl.

"They said ye'd come back," replied the dark-haired girl, jerking her head back towards the centre of the village. "And I wanted ta… I wanted ta apologise."

"Ye wanted ta apologise," Rahne repeated, staring evenly at her one-time friend. She could smell the guilt and nervousness streaming from her in waves, but it wasn't enough to assuage her resentment. "And it's supposed to be all better then, is it? Because you've said sorry?"

"Nay, of course it isna better," Jess replied, her voice on the edge of breaking. "I ken it canna ever be alright again, but I just wanted ta say that… well, that I'm sorry for what happened. I never wanted ta be a part of it, it's just… well, I couldna do anything about it – I'm nae brave like ye."

"I'm not brave," Rahne protested. She thought about all the times that fear had frozen her, left her unable to function – before the Reverend, outside the collapsing pub in Liverpool, listening to Edward Carson's speeches…. Fear seemed to rule her life these days.

"Nay, ye are – ye stood up fer me when Murray Crawford was tryin' ta tell everyone I was a demon, and ye saved Claire even when ye knew it would end up… like it did…. Ye're the bravest person I ken."

"Claire…," Rahne said, the sound of her best friend's name bringing back a rush of memories. "Where…."

"She's staying with us at the moment," Jess answered quickly. "But… well, she didna want ta come with me today…."

"She didn't want ta see me?" Rahne asked. Guilt spiked higher in Jess' scent, and the way the other girl failed to meet her eyes answered her question. "Well, thank you for coming, I suppose."

Jess looked at her, and it seemed to Rahne as though she was trying to come to some kind of decision. Finally in a rush, she blurted out "Look, it's great ta see ye, Rahne – I'm really glad ye came and ye're alright and all, but ye shouldn't stay in Ullapool."

"Why not?" Bitterness flared again for Rahne. "Do I bring back too many unpleasant memories? Tug a few too many guilty consciences?"

"Nay! Och, well, I mean, ye do, but that's nae more than we deserve for what he… for what we did. Ye shouldn't stay because… because it isna safe for ye here."

"What do you mean?" Rahne asked suspiciously. "Why isn't it safe?" Turning her back on the ruin of her house, she began to walk back toward the village square. Jess scrambled after her, bobbing anxiously while she attempted to explain.

"It's just… most of the village are like me – we feel terrible about what happened, ta ye and yer parents, and we blame ourselves… and the Reverend, but nae one can find him, even Claire doesna ken where he's gone…. But there's another group, and they… well, they dinna want ta admit that we did anythin' wrong. They say the Reverend was right, and that ye.…"

But Jess never got to complete her sentence. As they entered the square, Rahne saw that a large number of people had gathered, and out of the shadows of one of the shops to her left a single word rang out from a voice dripping with hatred. "Demon!"

She spun around to her left, and met the eyes of Mr Francis Crawford – eyes which held nothing but contempt for her. "Get away from here, demon," he snarled, advancing toward her menacingly. "We've rid this place of ye and your taint and we willna have ye returning ta haunt us, ta curse us further." She heard a number of shouts of agreement and inwardly cringed.

But she stood her ground, and as Crawford approached, looming over her imposingly, she felt a hand slip into hers and squeeze tightly. Glancing briefly to her right, she saw Jess smiling encouragingly. "This time, I'm with ye, nae matter what."

"Cut it out Crawford," another voice called from the crowd. "Go back ta skulking around that farm of yours. Have we nae hurt this lass enough already?" Terry McGinnis asked as he stepped forward, folding his arms across his chest. There was a louder murmur of approval at this.

"Aye, take yer trouble-making away somewhere else, Crawford," said another man, who Rahne recognised with some surprise to be poor old Mr Fraser. Apparently he'd finally managed to grow a backbone, although there was still a tremor in his voice.

Mr Crawford glared at the crowd, disgust etched across his features and staining his scent. Then with a toss of his shoulders, he began to walk away, brushing roughly past Rahne. "I'll see ye burn in hell one day, demon," he hissed.

"You'll be there a long time before me, bastard," she rejoined angrily. Crawford said nothing in reply, but walked on, spitting on the ground. Rahne snapped – dropping Jess' hand, she sprinted after the retreating back, intent on doing something, anything to make him hurt for what he had done. A few paces into her run she felt her ears tingle and lengthen, and by the time she had reached Crawford the transformation was complete.

Wolfsbane faced the man in her transitional form, the extra height which it gave her allowing her to look him in the eye. She could smell his fear even more strongly now, and it pleased her. But there was more to the man's scent than fear – she could smell hatred too, and after a moment's struggle it was that emotion which won out. "Go ahead, demon," the man taunted her. "Prove me right. I kent ye were naught but Satan's spawn…."

She raised her arm, ready to rip him apart with her claws. He deserved it. But at the last moment, something held her back. "No…," she said slowly, staring at him. "I don't need to do that. I'm better than you." Wolfsbane turned her back on him and began to walk out of the village, pushing herself into her full wolf state. Without looking back she started to run. She was free again, free from thoughts and consequences and pain, free to be….

_Where do you think you're going now Rahne?_ The purple-haired member of her pack had appeared before her, blocking her path. Wolfsbane growled a warning – she wasn't going to be caged behind walls again. _Do you want to be stuck as a wolf forever? You've broken the blocks, but now you've got to take back the control over your power luv. And that means letting it go._ Perhaps she had a point – reluctantly, Wolfsbane let mind shift back into the patterns which characterised human thought, her body following behind.

"That's better, Sparky. Nice to have you back in action," said Betsy.

"Those people back there, they…." She didn't know how to explain about Crawford and his supporters.

"Sometimes people just can't deal with things that happen to them, luv," Betsy told her. "Too big, too disturbing, doesn't fit with their world view… so they invent a new explanation for what happens, one that doesn't challenge their nasty little perceptions and prejudices. It's called cognitive dissonance, not that that really matters to you. That little posse can't handle the fact that they killed your parents and tried to kill you – so they don't let themselves see it. They choose to believe they cleansed their community of a demon instead, so that they can continue to sleep at night."

"I…," Rahne began, not quite sure about what she meant to say.

"I know luv. You wanted to make them hurt for what they did to you. But you didn't – which is a good thing…. Leave the vengeance part to me."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I told you I had things to do here luv, didn't I?"

Rahne followed the older girl to the church, now standing abandoned and empty. It was the same place which had haunted her memories, but in the churchyard, something was new. A large stone monument stood between the gate and the entrance to the church, demanding attention. Inscribed upon it were her parents' names, and underneath, in large letters were the words 'THEY DIED FOR YOUR SINS'.

"There's a new minister coming next week," Betsy told her. "Handpicked by Sean and yours truly. Has a far more modern approach to religion – love thy neighbour, turn the other cheek, all the rest of that rot. And he's got his orders – they can try, luv, but no one in this town's going to be allowed to forget what happened."


	26. Battle

It seemed almost as if it were the first time she had seen Muir Island. Intellectually, Rahne knew that nothing had changed in the place which had become her home over the last few months, but as she watched the tiny island appear in the helicopter's window she felt that she was finally seeing it properly, as though she'd had a pair of cataracts removed and was suddenly seeing colour again. "It's beautiful," she breathed.

"It's a great bloody lump of barren rock in the middle of a freezing ocean which barely gets twenty sunshine hours in an entire year," Betsy replied, snorting at the idea. "Give me the big smoke any day. But nice to know you appreciate it, luv."

……

"So how did it go?" Teresa asked as she bounded up the stairs from the basement levels to greet them. "Did you…? Oh sorry, that's not… I mean, if you didn't, it's alright, and…."

Rahne decided it was probably best not to wait for the Irish girl to stop talking. "I did," she answered. "We got rid of the blocks - I've got my powers back."

"That's awesome! I knew you could do it!" With a squeal, Teresa engulfed her in a hug. Somewhat startled at her foster-sister's excitement, Rahne looked helplessly toward Betsy.

"I really didna do anything…"

"Oh, don't look at me, luv," the telepath replied, "I just gave you a little nudge in the right direction. But anyway Tiger, what's with the enthusiasm today? You finally hooked up with a crazy little mutant boy, or did you just get through one of those useless lumps of paper you call textbooks?"

Teresa rolled her eyes. "Actually, I'm taking a break from studying today," she replied, pointedly ignoring Betsy's expression of mock surprise. "But we just heard from Butler – the defence case is finished, and they're going to start summing up tomorrow. Apparently the rest of the evidence went really well."

"So does that mean Jono will be found innocent?" Rahne asked. She wondered how the strange and bitter boy was doing – somewhere in the midst of her obsession with recovering the powers he had slipped from her mind, but now she remembered, and worried about him.

"We don't know yet, honey," said Moira, who had appeared from one of the corridors. "It could still go either way, but Joseph thinks there's reason to hope that he managed to convince the jury that simply being a mutant doesn't make you dangerous." She smiled warmly at Rahne, and slipped one arm around her in a stiff and slightly awkward hug. "It's good to see you looking happy again dear," she whispered. "Whatever Betsy did, I'm glad it worked."

"So am I," Rahne admitted. "Thank you."

"For what, dear?"

"For everything you've done for me. You've all been so understanding, and helpful… I dinna think I can ever repay you."

"Nonsense," replied Moira, in the same firm and businesslike tone with which she had talked down the Reverend. "I don't want to hear any more talk of payment, dear – you never have to worry about that." She paused briefly, and when she continued, her voice was softer. "I know it's just a formality on a piece of paper, but I do consider you to be my daughter. I don't want to take your parents place, but…" a speck of anxiety and embarrassment bloomed in her scent.

"Nay…," Rahne started, unsure of quite what she meant. "It's okay, I… thank you." She hugged her foster mother fiercely.

"Ummm… Moira?" a male voice called. Rahne looked up to see Neal Sharra standing at the top of the stairs, shuffling anxiously. "Sean wanted me to find you. He says it's someone from the… Institute?… on the line. They've got a bit of a situation on their hands apparently."

Moira had barely disappeared down the stairs to the conference room before Teresa rounded on Neal, pelting him with questions. "Well? Who was it? What did they want?"

"I don't know," he replied, shrugging his shoulders. "I didn't recognise the guy on the video screen… he looked a bit feral though."

The girls looked at each other, and nodded. "Wolverine."

"What are we waiting for? Let's go down there and find out what's happening!" said Teresa, tugging Rahne's arm.

Rahne hesitated. "But… wouldn't they have said if they wanted us ta come too?"

"And you'd just let them get away with that? _Come on_…"

Just as the four of them reached the conference room door, it was thrown open. Sean stalked out, with a grim expression and a scent to match. "Auch, there y' are Betsy – I was just comin' looking fer y'. I need y' t' get a message t' Brian – we're going t' need him and Meggan here, as soon as they can make it."

"What's happening Da?" asked Teresa, as the telepath closed her eyes and prepared to search for her brother.

"Nothing fer y' t' fret about yet, cagaran. We'll tell y' when we ken more about it."

"Oh for godsake, Da, I'm fifteen! I'm not a little kid anymore!"

"Naw? Well y're certainly acting like one." Teresa narrowed her eyes at her father, who looked back impassively. Rahne could smell her foster sister's irritation growing, just about ready to snap. She wondered whether she dared to intervene, but at that moment, the door swung open again and Moira leant out.

"Rahne – there's someone who wants to speak with you for a moment."

Flashing an apologetic smile at the still fuming Teresa, Rahne stepped into the conference room. Up on the large screen she could see a rather pale looking Roberto.

"Hey wolfie," he said, in a tone that sounded slightly off, although she couldn't place what was wrong. She'd grown so used to reading people through their scents that it was disconcerting to have to rely simply on sight and sound.

"Hey yourself," she replied, managing a smile. It was returned, but barely. "What's going on, Berto?"

"Remember how I told you about the powerful mutant when we came to Muir Island – the one that broke free, that the Professor was trying to locate?"

It sounded vaguely familiar, though much of the past few months was a blur to Rahne. "I think so…"

"Well, he's taken the Professor. And Miss Munroe. And now we're going after him."

"You're…?" she stared at him, open-mouthed. This sounded big. Too big.

"Yeah. We're going after him – the X-Men, the New Recruits, even one of Magneto's old lackeys. We're going to try to put a stop to him. But… I just wanted to see you before I go… just in case. I wanted to say…"

If it were possible, Rahne was even more astonished by that. Roberto DaCosta was actually admitting that something might go wrong – that he wasn't infallible. Ordinarily she would have taken the golden opportunity to tease him mercilessly, but instead, she found it chilling. "Now come on Sunshine," she tried to joke. "They're not going to get the best of you? You're Sunspot…"

"Well, yeah, I know…" He managed a small smile. "But just in case, I…"

"I know, Berto," she replied. "But I'm going to see ye again, ye hear, because I want to see you, and Wolfsbane always gets what she wants…"

He laughed briefly at that. "Shit, I'd better go – Wolverine wants to talk to Mr Cassidy again. I'll see you soon, Wolfie…" She smiled, adding to herself under her breath, 'you'd better'.

"So, what's the story, Logan?" Sean asked, once the others (including a rather smug looking Teresa) had filed back into the room. "Do y' want us t' suit up and help y' out?"

"No," the grizzled Canadian replied. "I reckon it's best to keep you out of it, for now at least. We should have enough, and it's best to have someone waiting outside the fight. But if something goes wrong… it's up to you."

Sean frowned at the thought. "I hear y'. We'll be waiting," The other man nodded gruffly. "Oh, by the way Wolverine," Sean continued as the X-Man turned away from the screen, "good luck." There was a grunt, a short nod, and the screen clicked off.

"So, now what do we do?" Neal asked. "Just wait?"

"Auch. Wait, and watch."

……

Brian and Meggan arrived shortly after. And all that night they watched the images play across the screen, documenting the X-Men's struggle. Watched, as one by one, their friends fell before the power of their former comrades and enemies. Watched, as the Sentinel fleets were sent out, only to be ripped apart and turned against their former masters. Watched, as finally the strange power grids were snapped off, and everything seemed to return to normal. All the while, none of the members of Excalibur said a single word. And then it was over.

"Well," said Betsy, breaking the silence. "That was exciting, wasn't it?"

"You could call it that," Moira answered, her tone grim. "But I'd prefer to get my excitement in a less world-threatening way, if at all possible."

The telepath grinned. "You know Moisy, you're dead right. I can think of much better ways of getting all excited." She stretched ostentatiously, throwing her shoulders back and her chest forward. "And working it off…," she added, with a deliberately seductive glance at Neal.

"Oh, get a room," said Brian, rolling his eyes.

"That's the plan, brother dearest… that's the plan."

The rest of Excalibur remained staring at the screens, still unable to full comprehend the images that they had just seen. Finally, Brian spoke. "Well, I guess we won, anyway."

"Yes, the X-Men seem to have come out on top in this battle," Moira replied, twin notes of weariness in her voice and her scent. "But I fear in the end, tonight's events don't bode well for mutants anywhere in the world who are trying to show that they are no threat to the rest of humanity. Especially Jonothan Starsmore. If only this had just happened two days later…"

"Why?" asked Rahne, puzzled. What effect would this have on Jono?

It was Sean that stepped in to explain. "Two days later, the summing up would be done, and the jury would ha' retired t' consider their verdict – they'd ha' been cut-off from news from the outside world. As it is, they'll all ha' seen what we've just seen – mutants fighting each other in massive battles across the world – do y' think that's goin' t' convince them that our friend in the dock isn't a danger t' society?"

* * *

**_NB:_**_ and that was all referencing the two Ascension episodes, as you hopefully guessed._


	27. Judgement

Despite the fact that she had been living on Muir Island for two months now, there were still large parts of the research centre which Rahne had never bothered to investigate. Now, with her newly recovered control over her powers lightening her mood, she had an urge to explore. And so she had come to be standing outside the door to Teresa's bedroom, wondering if her foster sister would mind if she interrupted her studies. She knocked hesitantly.

"Come in!" Teresa yelled from inside her room.

Rahne pushed open the door, and stepped inside to find Teresa sitting at her desk poring over what seemed to be a biology text book. "Hello," she said.

"Oh, hey Rahne. What's up? Is there some kind of meeting or something?"

"Uh… no. I was just exploring a bit..."

"Have you never seen this part of the centre before?" Teresa asked, looking a little surprised. "Well, as you may have guessed, this is my room: bed, wardrobe, floor – excuse the clothes – desk, books." She glared at the last set of items. "Stupid biology."

"You don't like it?" Rahne asked, glancing around. Somehow, she'd pictured Teresa as an organised sort of person. She'd been wrong.

"Oh, I don't know - just sick of it at the moment, I guess. Take a seat – just move some of that stuff off my bed."

Gingerly dislodging a set of trigonometry notes to clear herself a space, Rahne sat down on the edge of the bed. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, as long as it doesn't involve anything to do with how viruses replicate, or what a bacterial chromosome looks like. I couldn't concentrate on this anymore, anyway."

"It's the middle of July – why are you studying so much? Shouldn't you be on summer holiday?"

Teresa paused before answering, staring fixedly at the wall with a thoughtful expression. "I suppose it is summer, isn't it?" she began finally. "It's hard to tell in this place sometimes. But I want to sit my GCSEs next year, and that means I've got about a year's worth of work to catch up on."

"A year's work?" Rahne was having trouble figuring out how the girl who seemed to spend all her time studying needed to catch up on that much schoolwork. "Why?"

"Have I never told you about this before, Rahne?" Teresa smelled surprised, and perhaps even a little uneasy, but she smiled wryly and continued. "I'd only been on Muir Island for a couple of months before you… came. Before that I spent the best part of a year on the streets in Dublin."

"Oh," said Rahne, trying very hard to keep her mouth from hanging open. Teresa just didn't seem the type to live rough. "But… why? What about your father, wasn't he…?"

"Da? Oh, I barely saw him when I was growing up – he and Ma split up around the time I was two, and then he was always busy on assignments and undercover and all. He visited sometimes, but after Ma died he wasn't around and they put me in foster care." Teresa looked away again, her eyes on the wall. "My powers manifested at the same time and I managed to burst every eardrum in the home one night. The parents were cool about it and all, but a couple of the other kids decided they'd use me to help them break into places so that they could steal stuff. I ran away after a month, and spent nine months squatting in abandoned buildings before Da found me and brought me back here." She looked back at Rahne, and shrugged noncommittally. "So there you have it – my own personal mutant sob story. I know it's hardly up to yours or Jonothan Starsmore's, but it's why I'm usually buried under these stupid books…"

Rahne flinched involuntarily at the reference to her experiences. Despite her recent good mood at the recovery of her powers, the memories were still raw. In fact having her powers again had also brought back all the pain and grief, as the though the barriers had not only blocked her powers but insulated her from the memories. The last two nights she'd cried herself to sleep. But despite Teresa's efforts to downplay her own story, Rahne felt a surge of empathy for her foster sister. Between Excalibur and the X-men, Rahne had had support through most of the period after her parents' deaths. Teresa had been completely on her own. "I'm sorry about your mother," she said, knowing only to well how pitifully hollow that sounded. She paused, unsure of what to say. "How…?"

"Car crash."

"Oh… I'm sorry." As though that would make it better, she thought bitterly.

"It's okay," Teresa replied, smiling with a resigned tilt of her head. "I've still got Da, at least." Her eyes widened in alarm as she noticed Rahne's instinctive cringe, and realised what she had said. "Oh, I'm sorry… I didn't mean to say… Oh my god, I am so sorry…"

This time it was Rahne's turn to give a tight smile and look away. "It's okay," she said quietly, focusing intently on the pile of notes beside her to try and gain control of the bubble of sadness that had suddenly appeared from nowhere and lodged in her stomach. "I understand."

An awkward silence followed, with both girls staring at the floor, neither sure of what to say. It was only broken when Betsy's 'voice' spoke in their heads.

_Oi__, where is everyone? You need to get to a TV screen._

"Did you hear that? Isn't Betsy supposed to be in London today?" asked Teresa. Rahne nodded, wondering what was so important. "Well, I suppose we should do what she says," her sister continued. "Come on, there's a TV just down the hall."

Rahne followed her out of the room and along the corridor to yet another plainly furnished room which looked as though it might have been intended as a classroom. "What channel do you think she was meaning?" she asked as Teresa picked up the remote.

"I'm not sure, I suppose we'll have to flick through them…" the screen flickered into life, bringing up an image of a reporter standing in front of an official grey building. A building which was distressingly familiar. "Wait, that's the courthouse! But that means…" Teresa trailed of as the reporter began to speak.

"I'm standing here at the steps of the High Court in London, where just fifteen minutes ago a jury found Jonothan Starsmore guilty of the murder of Gayle Edgarton. The jury took only two and a half hours to reach its verdict in the case which has divided the nation and is tipped to be a precedent-setting decision in the issue of mutant responsibility for their actions. And here comes the successful Crown Prosecutor, QC Edward Carson, to say a few words to the public…"

As the reporter joined the crowd of media gathering around the lawyer, he began to speak, his voice ringing above the clamour of questions. "Justice has been done today," he began, looking directly into the camera. "With this ground-breaking verdict, we are sending a message to mutants, telling them that they will not be allowed to run free while the rest of us have to deal with the consequences of their powers. If the case of Jonothan Starsmore shows us anything, it is that the same laws apply to mutants as to the rest of us. Mutants should not be above the law – they must not be allowed to believe that they can avoid punishment because of their so-called 'gifts'."

As he paused, the clamour of the reporters began again. One raised his hand, and called out "What are your thoughts on sentencing Mr Carson?"

"I'm sure it's too early to comment on such things," Carson replied, smiling his snake-like smile. "But I will say this. My brother Francis and his dedicated team of researchers at Oxford University have just perfected a cure for the mutant gene. As we speak, a Bill is being fast-tracked through Parliament which will legalise the inactivation of mutant powers as a sentence. This Bill will make it legal for a mutant convicted of a capital crime to have their powers bound and inactivated in a simple non-invasive medical procedure."

"So, do you think that this procedure should be used on Jonothan Starsmore?" one of the reporters asked.

"Of course I'm not at liberty to comment about this," he answered. "But I will say that we hope that Jonothan Starsmore will be the first person to undertake this treatment, for both the benefit society at large, and his own good."

If there was more, neither Rahne nor Teresa wanted to hear it. They'd already had more than enough to process in the little that they'd heard. "That was…" Teresa looked dumbfounded. "I don't even know what that was – maybe we should ask Moira?"

Rahne nodded. She wanted to say something, but the use of her tongue seemed to have left her for the moment. What had just happened? What was Carson talking about? The two girls walked out of the room in silence, and neither said a word in the time it took to find Moira and Sean in one of the other conference rooms.

"So I suppose y' both saw it too," Sean remarked.

"Yeah, we did," Teresa replied. "What was it? What was he talking about?"

"I'm not sure." Moira seemed to have been taking notes, and she was now gazing at them speculatively. "Edward's up to something, and it looks like his brother is a part of it too. I just wish we knew what this 'cure' that Francis has created was… I mean, I know that he's been working on the activation and signalling pathways of the x-factor gene, but there are just so many possibilities in the practical execution… We really need to know exactly what we're dealing with here."

Sean's expression took on a scheming air. "Y' know my dear," he said with a sudden smile, "I think that we might just be able t' arrange that."


	28. Investigation

"I still say you should have just let me blow the lock," Teresa grumbled, glaring at the offending door through the steady dripping of the summer rain.

"And I still say that the whole point of tonight is being stealthy," Betsy replied for the sixteenth time, rolling her eyes. "If we're going to let you cut loose with the sonic lance, I might as well have brought Neal along too. But I don't much fancy the idea of having the walls blasted down, so we'll do it my way, and we'll get in and out of here without anyone noticing."

Here was the Biocheminstry and Molecular Biology wing of the new Centre of Innovation at Oxford. And according to Moira and Betsy, it was also the site of Francis Carson's laboratories, and, more importantly, his files and notes on his research. It was for that reason that Betsy, Teresa and Rahne had flown into the old university town, landing the jet on the protected ground of Christchurch Meadow under cover of darkness and Betsy's telepathy. The historic herd of cattle had scattered as the high-tech plane touched down before returning to their placid chewing, mostly unconcerned by the strange activities of humans in their pasture. Trying for as much nonchalance as is possible while wearing tight black leather, the three girls had then hurried through the lanes and streets, past the old stone colleges whose gargoyles seemed to be watching them impassively as they walked beneath. The Centre for Innovation was on the other side of the city centre, nestled in beside the old Clarendon labs – a fifteen minute walk, but Oxford was rather short on places to land a state-of-the-art aircraft.

"Doesn't your father work here, Betsy?" Teresa asked again as they waited in the darkness beside the Centre's back door. "Couldn't he just let us in?" Rahne nodded her agreement – the rain wasn't precisely annoying, especially compared to the typical weather at Muir Island, but it would have been nice to have been able to simply walk inside and not wait out here for half an hour.

"Nope, unfortunately," the telepath answered. "His office and everything's back at St John's College – he doesn't have access to this place outside normal hours. Like I said, we're going to have to do this my way." She shrugged, and smiled at something in the darkness. "And here it comes now…"

Sure enough, a figure appeared from around the corner of the building, stepping into the lighted area in front of the doorway. The security guard on the night shift, making his half hourly perimeter check. Flattening herself against the wall as far as she could, Rahne drew in her breath, trying not to make a sound. It was unnecessary, since Betsy was psychically preventing the man from perceiving them, but it made her feel safer.

Limbs moving mechanically, under outside direction that he probably wasn't even aware of, the guard searched through his pockets, eventually coming out with a keycard. He slid it through the pad beside the door, punching in his combination automatically. And then after giving the corridor inside a cursory inspection, the man straightened up with a shrug, and turned back toward the night, continuing his walk around the building without so much as a glance at the three girls in black leather who were standing against the wall.

Betsy darted forward and grabbed the door, preventing it from swinging shut and giving the hallway inside a quick, expert glance. "We're clear for the moment," she reported. "No cameras – looks like they were relying on Mr Blinky back there to keep out any intruders… Still, that works to our benefit." She motioned the other two girls forward. "Right, codenames only from here on in, girls."

Rahne followed Psylocke and Siryn through the corridors, trusting that they knew where they were going. It seemed to work – eventually they came to a door bearing a plate which read: _G17 - Dr Francis Carson_. It was locked, which they'd expected. There had been some debate about what to do about the locks on the inner rooms – destroying them would be quicker than waiting until Betsy could steal the keys from Carson using her telepathy, but it would also leave no doubt that the facility had been broken into. Considering the limits on time that Jono's fast approaching sentencing imposed, in the end the interests of speed had won out. A short burst of noise from Siryn neatly blew out the bolt, and the door swung open with a barely audible swish.

Rahne had had very limited experience with the décor choices of research scientists, but Francis Carson's office was far from Moira's immaculately sleek system of computers and colour-coded files, and not even that close to Dr McCoy's lab back at the Institute, which was normally strewn with everything from left-over test-tubes from his latest chemistry experiment to half-finished translations of old Hebrew or even the deflated remains of whatever kind of ball Ray and Roberto had been fighting over most recently. This office was simply filled with… paper. From stacks of journals in the bookcases which reached from floor to ceiling on two of the walls to the sheets of scribbled diagrams stuck to the whiteboard and the piles and piles of notes spreading over both floor and desk and filing cabinet, the room was a mess of paper. The only sign of personality in this office was a single photo of two men pinned up above the computer. With a flash of loathing, Rahne noticed that one of them was Edward Carson.

Once inside, the other two girls immediately got to work. Rahne hovered by the door, not sure of whether she should try to help, or if she'd only be in the way. Betsy had told her before they left that she was to be their eyes and ears, and simply play lookout. It was a task that the telepath would usually carry out herself, keeping up a psychic scan of the surrounding area, but tonight Psylocke was going to be communicating with Moira, who was waiting back with the jet, allowing the scientist to see the office and guide them to the data that she needed. Doing both was well within Betsy's capabilities, but they'd decided that it would be safest to have Rahne take some of the pressure. Personally, Rahne wasn't sure that their faith in her was justified, especially considering what had happened in Liverpool, but there had been something in her that was just a little thrilled that they'd include her in their missions.

Rahne took up a place beside the door, peering out into the hallway outside. It was empty, and she couldn't hear any sounds of movement coming this way. So far, at least. She crossed her fingers, hoping that it would continue that way, and that no one would come to investigate the odd shrieks that were the necessary partner of Teresa's powers.

She chanced a glimpse back into the room to see what the others were doing. Psylocke had started up the computer, and was staring fixedly at the screen as she relayed information from Moira on what she needed to call up. Siryn – Siryn was standing with her ear pressed up against the metal filing cabinet and was humming softly into it. "What are you doing?" Rahne asked, curious at her foster sister's odd behaviour.

"I'm just testing the resonances of the metals in this, so I can blow out the lock without damaging the rest of it, or what's inside," Siryn explained in a whisper, her face screwed up in concentration. "I just need to find the right pitch." After a couple more seconds of humming, she took a step back and opened her mouth, precisely and efficiently blasting out the upper lock on the cabinet.

Rahne let the other two girls work in silence after that. Siryn worked methodically through the filing cabinet, occasionally showing Psylocke a particular sheet of scrawled notes or data. Most were rejected, but for some the telepath nodded, and Siryn made took a copy of them using the small digital camera which they had brought. Psylocke meanwhile was printing off the data Moira needed for the computer and had started on the piles of notes sprawled across the rest of the desk.

Rahne turned back to the corridor outside, blocking out the sound of shuffling paper and the soft whirring of the printer as she tried to concentrate on the sounds in the other corridors. Was there anything disturbing the silence of the sleeping building apart from the buzz of the air conditioning and the hum of the incubators in the labs? Was that a light tapping noise coming from the direction of the stairs? She concentrated, slipping into a half-wolf form to sharpen her hearing further. It was, she decided – a slow rhythmic patter which was steadily growing louder. Footsteps.

Wolfsbane paused for a moment, making certain that the person was indeed heading toward the corridor on which the office was situated, and then turned back to warn the other two. "Psylocke," she hissed.

There was no response from the telepath, who was still locked up in a mental conversation with Moira. "Psylocke," Wolfsbane hissed again, louder this time. The older girl remained oblivious, but Siryn looked up.

"What is it?" she asked.

Wolfsbane jerked a hand back to the door. "Someone's out there," she whispered. Cocking an ear, she paused for a second to track the walker's progress. They were still coming closer, rounding the corner as she listened and starting down the corridor toward them. "They're almost here."

Quickly and silently, the Irish girl stole across the floor and grabbed her friend around the shoulders, shaking her back into the real world. "Come on, Psylocke," she hissed. "We've got to get out of here."

Too late – as the telepath blinked and shook her head, the walker reached the door and turned in to the office. Wolfsbane could smell the sudden blossoming of surprise and fear in the man's scent as he took in the situation. Mouth dropping open in shock, his gaze shifted from the wolf-thing to the two other girls sitting in the midst of his papers and then back again. Wolfsbane bared her teeth and gave a low growl, and the man jumped, starting to back out of the office with some haste.

_Stop him! _Psylocke called in her head. Wolfsbane lunged forward, closing one paw around the man's wrist before he could turn and run. He struggled, pulling back and trying to dislodge her grip, but in this form Wolfsbane was more than strong enough to hold him. Twisting one arm behind his back, she grabbed the other as he attempted to swing an ineffective punch. _What now, Betsy?_ she asked, keeping the scientist's arms pinned carefully.

_I'll handle it,_ the telepath replied, rising effortlessly to her feet and crossing the floor with swift, deadly grace. As she closed the distance, the purple-haired telepath raised one fist. From her knuckles a glowing purple knife flashed into existence, eight inches long and seemingly composed of some kind of psychic energy. In one smooth efficient movement, she stepped in and plunged the knife into the scientist's head. A simple twist, and he sagged in Wolfsbane's arms, completely unconscious. She let him slump to the floor, and then looked at the older girl questioningly. What were they supposed to do now?

"It's alright," Psylocke answered, not even bothering to look at the sleeping man now lying on the floor. "He's out to it, and I've wiped his memory of us. He won't remember a thing."

"Yeah, except that he'll wake up and find himself on the floor of his office, which has obviously been broken into," Siryn replied. "Hardly an ideal situation, is it?"

"No, but nothing we can do about that now, luv." Psylocke paused, gathering up the sheets of paper from the printer and tucking them into her uniform before continuing. "Come on – we've pretty much got everything we came for – let's get out of here before the esteemed Dr Carson wakes up again…"

* * *

**_NB: _**_I couldn't resist the chance to write a bit about Oxford, since I used to live there… yeah, I love that place. That's all I have to say._


	29. Threat

**_Mature Immaturity:_**_ "Betsy thrust her indigo dagger of death into the doomed scientist's head." Hehehe… I kind of like it.  Thanks for the encouragement, though!_

**_The Hog of Hedges:_**_ Thanks dude! I love Ocean's Eleven – not that I'd ever be able to plot like that. As for Hank translating Hebrew…I dunno, it kind of seemed like the sort of thing he'd do. He does a whole lot of random stuff, after all. And yeah, Neal is in this one – just for you! _

**_Ivan Alias:_**_ hooray for Robbie Burns! Thanks, and sorry about the updating delay_

**_The Uncanny R-Man:_**_ hmm, interesting. I'll have to see where I can work that in, thanks! I love Oxford so much, can you tell?_

**_Atomic midnight:_**_ love the name! Glad you liked the action, that makes me feel better about it. And the revelation should come up in this chapter, so I hope it lives up to expectations._

**_Episodic:_**_ hehe, you make me laugh. I have this pathological inability to not shorten things hugely, but I'm working on it…_

**_Jordsan:_**_ thanks! Yeah, she really does._

**_Anon(girl):_**_ thanks for the review._

**_Chaotic Boredom:_**_ so that was you? I was wondering who that was. I'd like to see the first season again, I still haven't seen Middleverse…Come to think of it, Rahne in tight black leather is a little odd… hmm… oh well. And yeah, Hank's lab… I had fun with that idea._

**_HybridMutant:_**_ thanks as always! There really wasn't a lot of action – this story just didn't turn out that way, and now I've atrophied my action writing muscles anyway, so yeah. Glad you liked the stuff with Siryn and Psylocke's powers, I had so much fun doing those bits. (Always wanted to be a spy, and a super-powered spy is just even cooler)._

_A couple more shout outs this time, to a few people who helped this chapter come out…first to **Raskolion Phoenix** for looking over it before I posted and telling me that I'm not completely crazy to upload this, to **hellion**, for some general conversations about Rahne and advice on parts of my rewrite (see the note after the chapter), and to** Caliente**, for her wonderful brilliance on talking about  clothing and things, which I have taken out of context and nicked to put in this. You guys are great!_

_And yeah, insert general apology for updating lateness in here._

_-----_

It took Moira nearly a day and a half of poring over the notes from Carson's office to reach a conclusion about his supposed cure for mutancy. Judging from the constant frown which her foster mother was wearing throughout that time, Rahne could tell the news was unlikely to be positive, for Jono or for the rest of the mutant population of Britain. And when her foster mother's announcement came, it was both unsurprising and surprising – unsurprising because she'd learned to expect the worst over the last few months, surprising because despite everything that happened, this still seemed to be in the realm of wishful, fantastical day-dreaming. She doubted that any of the members of Excalibur who had gathered to here the geneticist's verdict had ever seriously considered the possibility which Moira was now explaining to them.

"I've been over and over the data a hundred times," Moira said as they sat round the conference table. Defeat and weariness showed plainly on her face. "I can't see any way around it – Francis _has_ found himself a cure, and as far as I can tell, if he gave it to any of you, it would work near to perfectly – with next to no side effects. You would all be the same, but you'd loss any active use of your powers."

There was silence in the room. Rahne would have sworn that she could hear her mind working furiously, trying to process the idea, but she felt sure that she was missing at least half of the implications…And the others seemed to feel similarly - across the table, Rahne saw Betsy and Neal look at each other and shudder. Powers were a curse sometimes, but they were a part of you, something that made you who you were. The idea of having them simply just… gone… was staggering.

"How?" Teresa asked finally, bringing the unvoiced musings to a halt.

"It's simple," Moira replied, sorting through her notes to find the page she was looking for. "Simple and yet, exceedingly complex. I can try to explain, but I'm afraid there's a lot of molecular biology theory involved..." Pushing her glasses up against the bridge of her nose, the scientist went into full lecture mode.

"It starts with the x-gene, as I'm sure you'd guess. But the x-gene isn't exactly a gene – or at least, not in the way you'd expect: It doesn't code for a specific protein, but instead seems to link into other genes and change the way they're expressed by changing the way a variety of transcription factors bind and relate to a particular gene. The linking to somatic genes seems to happen before the zygotic stage, but that's not really important here…," she explained, bringing another set of papers to the top of her sheaf. "Francis has been studying a different aspect of the x-gene: specifically how it is activated – in lay terms, what occurs when a mutant's powers first emerge."

Moira paused to make sure that the Excalibur members were following her, or attempting to, before going on. "There are a number of pathways which seem to be involved in the triggering of powers, or, speaking on a cellular level, the activation of the x-gene. And the one that Francis has homed in on involves an auto-catalytic phosphorylation triggered by some of the pathways set in motion by the advent of puberty - which as you all know, is the time when most mutants manifest. This creates an activated transcription factor protein, which must bind to a specific region of the x-gene before any enhanced effects in transcription can be initiated."

The explanation was already starting to blend into one big mess, right over Rahne's head, despite Moira's attempts to simplify the ideas. And her nose told her that she wasn't alone – confusion was the dominant note threading through most of the scents in the room. She noticed Brian start to nod off, slack-jawed, before he was shoved in the ribs by Meggan. He sputtered, shaking his head and looking around.

"The transcription factor binding is absolutely essential to x-gene activation, and its presence is required to maintain the expression of the enhanced genes," Moira continued, carefully oblivious to the by-play. "Block the binding, and you can block the expression of the x-gene – effectively curing the phenotypic effects of mutation, the 'mutant powers'. And Francis has figured out a way to do just that: his formula will deliver a protein to cell nuclei, which specifically methylates cytosine residues in a particular DNA sequence: the specific sequence of the x-gene which binds that phosphorylated transcription factor. The methylation blocks the factor from binding, and it's permanent – it's copied along with the DNA during normal replication." The geneticist paused once more before delivering her conclusion. "So the 'cure' is fast-acting, silences the x-gene near to completely, and is effectively irreversible."

"Um… It's all very nice and neat, Moira, but what does it mean?" asked Meggan, after the scientist's words had died away.

"Yes, and why do I get the feeling that there's something more to this?" Brian interrupted. "You haven't brought us all the way up here just for a biochemistry lesson, have you?"

"Well if you'd just engage your brain, Bri, you'd realise that this has the potential to do terrible things for mutant rights," Betsy snapped back. "Just imagine what they could get away with…"

"Alright, I'm not stupid Bets…," her brother replied hotly. Rahne looked around nervously. She could smell the tempers in the room beginning to fray.

"Please, _children_," said Moira. There was an edge of annoyance in her voice. "Settle down. Brian is actually correct – there is something more to this cure of Carson's, but it involves biochemistry, not politics." Brian smirked at his sister across the table, while Betsy pretended not to notice. "I'm afraid something else came out of my review of Carson's notes and my own data. If Jonothan Starsmore takes the cure, it will kill him."

The room was silent again, but this time it was not the silence of people trying to process an idea. It was the silence of shocked minds shutting down. Eventually Neal found his voice. "But…um, is it just that I'm new to all this stuff? Didn't you say that this thing had no side effects?"

"Yes, for any of you the process would be completely harmless," replied Moira. "The formula would silence the x-gene, and normal expression of genes would resume. But I believe you've all seen what Jonothan's first use of his powers did to him?"

Rahne nodded, shuddering at the memory of that gaping empty hole in the boy's body. "Francis' formula is a neat little trick, but it's hardly stem cell research, it can't reconstruct organs or tissues… I'm afraid that the damage Jono did to himself in the blast is irreparable. He survived because his body has effectively become a bio-kinetic generator, due to the nature of his mutation – it provides energy for his remaining tissues. But his activated x-gene is currently the only thing that's keeping him alive."

"Okay…" Neal still looked and smelled confused, and Rahne couldn't blame him. "So what does that mean, then?"

Sean answered that, his face grim. "It means we need t' go and have a wee talk t' the Brothers Carson before they do anythin' stupid."

-----

And so the next morning, at 10.36am, the members of Excalibur, once again minus Captain Britain and his fiancée, filed into the London offices of Edward Carson, QC, to await a meeting with him and his brother. A non-descript clerk led them into one of the meeting rooms, indicating that they should sit down and wait for the lawyer. Nervous, and more than a little intimidated by the official surroundings, Rahne slid into the end seat beside Teresa, fiddling nervously with the soft black material of the long formal skirt that Moira had insisted she wear for the occasion. All the members of Excalibur were dressed similarly, in neat and slightly official looking clothes. It was just a different type of uniform, but Rahne found she missed the tight black spandex of her old training uniform at Xavier's. That had felt safer. 

After a few minutes, Edward Carson swept into the room, with his brother, looking perhaps a little worse for wear after his run-in with Betsy, following on his heels.

"Well, what do we have here?" Carson asked, running his gaze along the line of crisply dressed Excalibur members. "My _dear_ old friend Moira MacTaggert and her current motley collection of little lost mutants: …. A policeman whose record is spotted by a rather 'colourful' record of cover ups and mishaps; a young man who I believe is wanted on several charges of destruction and assault; Professor Braddock's darling little daughter – whose history with telepathic indiscretions is really rather legendary, I must say; a former Dublin street – well, 'urchin' is far too pretty a word for what young Miss O'Rourke got up to, isn't it? And…" Pausing, the lawyer's eyes flicked over Rahne briefly. "And your newest little stray pet…" He laughed brightly. "So, where would the illustrious Captain Britain be today? Off saving the country from whatever menace you and your Irish rogue have cooked up this time?"

Shuffling her papers together, Moira pointedly ignored the question. "You've got to stop this Edward," she said briskly. "All this nonsense about making the cure statutory for mutants like Jonothan Starsmore."

"Stop it?" asked the lawyer, arching one eyebrow. "And why should I do that, exactly?" Rahne had thought of him as a vulture before, back at the trial. That was still there, at least to some extent. But today Carson was a hawk, staring at Moira with coolly calculating eyes, all composed menace and hidden talons.

"Because it will kill him! This isn't America, capital punishment is illegal here!" Teresa burst out, glaring at the two men before Moira silenced her with a look.

Francis shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking questioningly at his brother. But the lawyer laughed again, fixing his gaze on the young girl for a moment as that familiar nasty smile curved his lips. "I'm afraid you're wrong there, Miss O'Rourke," he purred. "Whether it would terminate Mr Starsmore's current miserable existence or not, there is actually nothing illegal about administering the cure to him. You see, our friend Jonothan has no rights – legally, he is quite, quite dead."

"But…," Neal protested angrily.

"Please Mr Sharra, think before opening your mouth," Carson said mockingly. "One would think that you would have picked up at least something about our hallowed legal system in the decade or so you've been here, but if you really do insist on showing your immigrant ignorance, I suppose I should explain…" Neal growled, and was prevented from rising only by Betsy placing a warning hand on his arm. "Our legal code defines death as occurring when the heart stops beating and respiration ends," the lawyer continued. "Something that I believe happened around two months ago for young Mr Starsmore. After all, he hardly has a heart or lungs any longer, does he? In a legal sense, ending his existence is no different from switching off a respirator."

"Somehow I doubt that the public would see it that way," Betsy said calmly, poised and confident with all the assurance that seemed to come naturally to her, as though self-possession was a birthright. "They aren't usually that fond of legal technicalities – if they knew what would happen…"

"And how would they find out?" Carson's question was flippant, but still laced with menace. "On the basis of information given to them by a group of mutants who are known to be biased about such matters? And how did this group of mutants get such classified information about the technique anyway? How do you think the public would see Professor Braddock's youngest child breaking into a government sponsored lab and assaulting a researcher? Something else they might not be too fond of, perhaps?"

"That's a risk we'll take," Moira said evenly, staring directly at the hooded bird-of-prey eyes of the lawyer. "You have no proof. And if it will save Jonothan Starsmore's life, that's a price we'll pay – willingly."

"Even though it goes against the greater good?" Carson asked sharply. "You know first hand the damage that mutants like Jonothan Starsmore can do if allowed to retain their powers. What they can do despite all attempts to reason with them or teach them control. Who knows, maybe you can save him… but who knows what the next one will do? What will the cost in lives be next time a mutant surfaces? Tens, hundreds even…"

Moira opened her mouth to protest, but the lawyer continued ruthlessly. "What's the matter, Moira? Got all high and mighty in your old age?" His measured tones were beginning to get heated now, and the vowels were roughening at the edges. "Not willing to sacrifice one life for the good of others? You never used to see things that way, Dr_ MacTaggert_…"

Moira suddenly went very pale, and Rahne could smell a bolt of fear and sorrow and guilt mixed in with her foster mother's rising anger.

"I'm sure even a great and 'noble' scientist like you has some things which they'd rather the public didn't know," said Carson. "Things in their past – family secrets, even…" In his eyes, the hawk pounced, ready to rend its prey. Moira's face became suddenly still, perfectly schooled in an expression of icy calm. But Rahne could smell the guilt and fear in waves now.

Carson leaned back into his chair, face twisted by his peculiar smile. "And that's why I don't think you will go public with your 'information' about Starsmore."

-----

_Okay, I hope no one died with all the biochemistry (well… there wasn't really that much). I also hope no one is going to be jumping up and down telling me that I've given an explanation that makes no sense and doesn't fit the science (you try making it work… actually, if anyone has any suggestions as to how the explanation could be improved in a scientific sense, I'd love to hear about it)._

_The little factoid about the legal definition of death is completely true, and something I've been wanting to put in this since I found it out (back in February). Hooray for random factoids!_

_And yeah, I know it was a very sudden ending – in the next chapter we'll find out just what Carson knows about Moira – although if you're familiar with the comics, you might be able to guess._

_One more information notice thingy from me (there's a lot of them today, I know) – I'm currently in the process of rewriting quite a lot of the early chapters – nothing really major, mostly fixing up bits of writing that sounded really bad, and introducing a very minor little subplot about Rahne's religious beliefs (as in a couple of paragraphs spread over 16 chapters, really really minor). However I am writing a new chapter to fit back in between chapters 5 and 6, because I decided I wanted more balance and things on the earlier part of the story. So if you see that there's an update, but can't find a new chapter at the end, look at Ch 6._

_Okay, news flash over… hope you enjoyed! (the chapter, not the news) _


	30. Memory

**_The Hog of Hedges:_**_ glazing over is good! That's what we aim for….incomprehensible stuff that sounds like it might know what it's talking about. Editing is a bitch, but I'm glad I did it. Sort of. Now I have to resist the urge to keep tweaking… Hahaha… I wouldn't know about heroin either, but thank you!_

**_Iblis_******_ well… all will be revealed about Kevin in this chapter. Sort of, anyway. I hope I can get Jono out of it too… even I'm still not sure if he'll co-operate…. sighs_

**_AnonGirl88:_**_ great name! And about the whole updating thing… umm… yeah… ooops. (Running and hiding now)._

**_Pixie stix addict:_**_ hahahaha… yeah, gotta love Brian. He's the sensible type. Hmm… jailbreak… there's an idea. You'll have to wait and see. And you're so right about Excalibur.. they're dirty old extortionists too. Freedom fighters, maybe._

**_Uncanny R-Man:_**_ you hate him? Yay! Someone getting into my characters! That is so cool. And as for Wisdom… yeah, I got plans for him. Give me… two or three chapters though. Rahne totally rules! Yes!_

**_Atomic midnight_**_: it made sense? Awesome! Rahne bite Carson? I kinda like that idea. I'll have to keep it in mind. And you are once again completely correct. Proteus it is._

**_Episodic:_**_ and a damn good purpose it is too! Random factoids are brilliant. And sorry to hear about your headphones!_

**_MatureImmaturity_******_ thank you! I try to make everything fit in – pointlessly sometimes, like in this chapter here. But the science was supposed to be confusing, so that's all good. And I'm glad you like Carson – I have way way way too much fun writing him. Seriously, I'm sure it's unhealthy._

**_Ivan Alias:_**_ yay, another genetics fan! There should be so many more of us. sighs I'm not completely sure about the globalness of the definition of death, but I'm certain it applies in Britain, NZ and the States. Fairly certain, anyway. Yay for more rabbie! I'd put a Scottish quote back for you, but the only ones I can think of come from Trainspotting… oh well! Thanks for the review and the quote!_

**_I heart the Distillers:_**_ totally with you on the Carsons… they shall be strangled well and good! Or I hope they will. Okay… consider me threatened! I'll try not to kill Jono… although he might have other ideas…_

**_Taishoku_****_ Kurayami:_**_ letting it flow over your head is probably a good thing. It's not meant to make huge amounts of sense! Thanks for the review!_

**_Beaubier_******_ ha! I'm talking to you on AIM while I'm writing this! Crazy cool! Anyway… yeah… research. I'm addicted to it… it's so sad. But if I managed to make you interested… hehehe.. my evil biochem work is done… And yeah… gotta love Brian. He's so my village idiot at the moment. But it makes him feel important!_

**_HybridMutant_******_ oh man, I love you so much! You make me feel all cool and stuff! Seriously, thank you. And I'm glad you're enjoying it! And I'm glad that it seems like this story is turning into my own, because that's totally what I'm aiming for! Yay!_

**_Chaotic Boredom:_**_ wow… you understood? Dammit, I was going for incomprehensibility! And yeah, you've gotta love Gen X. Paige and Jono always cracked me up too! Totally Proteus! And he is a jackass… but more on that later…_

_And as always, or so it seems these days, many many apologies for the delay.__ Everything and its dogs seemed to want to get between me and writing this chapter – assignments, illnesses, various other lots of x-men crap, uncooperative characters, editing, holidays… no seriously! Silly I know… and I'm sorry. Anyway, in more positive news, this should hopefully be a double update! I've finished editing the earlier parts of this story – not quite to my utmost satisfaction, but never mind – and there's also a new chapter which fits between chapters five and six (providing ffnet allows me to do it – fingers crossed). So if you wanted to read more about the Reverend and his daughter… check it out. It's not crucial to the story in any way, but it might be fun. And if you were wondering why you got two update alert notice thingies, that's why too. _

_Huge thanks go to the wonderful Beaubier for reading this chapter and being amazingly (overly) positive about it, since I was kind of worried. You are fabulously shinyhair as always._

_Anyway… finally…_

* * *

_What just happened?_ The confusion was clearly painted across the faces of Teresa and Neal at least, and Rahne knew she must be wearing a matching expression. Betsy and Sean had twin stony-faced glares, and Moira…. Somehow, the current of the discussion had shifted, with Carson gaining the upper hand, and Rahne had no idea why.

"You can't just smirk around and threaten people and expect them to…" Teresa began indignantly, but she was cut off by Moira's simultaneous, "You wouldn't…" The scientist's face, though controlled, was paler than usual and her voice and scent carried just a note of panic, mixed in with guilt. Old guilt.

Carson looked back levelly, still smiling the smile that never touched his eyes. "All for the greater good," he said, and even with her nose, Rahne couldn't tell whether the lawyer was serious or not. He broke the gaze for a moment, eyes flicking over the companions, lingering with amused interest on the puzzled features of Neal and Teresa. "I see some of your young charges look confused – do they not know about your son, Moira? Your mutant son, whom you ordered to be killed?" Francis lay a restraining hand on his brother's arm, sending the lawyer an urgent look, but withdrew it quickly when Carson rounded on him sharply. He settled back in his chair, his scent unhappy but obviously unwilling to challenge his brother further.

"You gave the orders to have his life terminated, _Dr MacTaggert_," the lawyer continued, hints of a snarl breaking through his composure. "But not before you'd allowed him to remove… now what was the body count? Six? Seven?"

"Five," Moira replied stiffly, anger overwhelming the guilt in her scent and tightening her voice into a tone that seemed more penetrating than any of the Cassidy's sonic lances. "And how dare you insinuate that I would sit back and let lives be taken? I would never, _never_…"

Sean actually growled, and started to rise out of his chair, fists clenched before Betsy put a restraining hand on his arm. Although she didn't look to happy about it either – Rahne thought she could make out little flares of purple fire flashing around the telepath's knuckles. For herself, the Rahne still wasn't sure that she completely understood what the hawk-faced lawyer was hinting at, but he was definitely threatening her pack, her new mother, and for that she could feel the rage growing, along with a desire to let her fangs grow and rip at the smirking, unprotected throat.

"Really?" the lawyer asked, his composure returning, although he eyed Sean's glare with a flash of nervousness. "And yet now you play the good Kantian, unwilling to allow a measure that could save countless lives because it will cost one boy his meagre, pitiful existence?"

Moira sat silent for nearly a minute after this statement, and following her lead the other members of Excalibur held their tongues as well, although the strain was obviously showing for Teresa and Sean, and even Betsy's scent betrayed frustration, although outwardly she was as composed as ever. For herself, Rahne had no urge to speak, despite the anger at the lawyer's treatment of Moira. For one thing, she still wasn't completely sure that she knew what was going on – she had a feeling of skirting around the shores of a whole sea of complicated troubles, with no sense of any guide through. Moira's son? Why had she never heard anything about him? And what had Carson meant about ordering him to be killed? It was too much to comprehend.

But eventually the scientist did break the silence, quietly this time, her tone shorn of most of the anger, although scraps remained in her scent. "Why are you doing this?"

"Why? Because mutants must be stopped." The lawyer's answer came instantly, not quite flippant, but coming close. "But I suppose if you must have a more personal reason, Dr MacTaggert, I could trace it back to ten years ago, when I heard about the death of my good friend Joseph," he continued, taking on a more serious expression. "You see, I wasn't quite satisfied with the story that they put out about your husband's death, Moira. I did some investigating on my own. And found an interesting cover up by a certain Irish policeman, incidentally, but that's quite beside the point." Sean glared at him, but Carson pretended not to notice. "The important thing I learnt from Joseph's death was that mutants are essentially uncontrollable and extremely dangerous. You really are a menace. And so, you know, I rather like to think of my actions as a tribute to the memory of my dear departed friend."

"That's complete bullshit!" Teresa exploded, unable to hold back any longer. Her father silenced her with a sharp glance, but by that point it was too late anyway. Perhaps it had been two late when the lawyer stepped into the room. In any case, Moira rose abruptly, signalling for the others to start vacating the room.

But not before Betsy had taken one last opportunity to address the lawyer. "You're one sick sick man, aren't you?"

"You know Miss Braddock, coming from someone such as yourself, I believe I'll take that as a compliment."

……

The group that arrived back at Muir Island later that day was subdued to say the least. They'd gone off to vanquish the big bad ogre in his castle, but at the end of the day, he was still sitting there, more secure than ever. Or at least it felt that way to Rahne. And apparently the others felt similarly. Moira had vanished as soon as they'd entered the Research Centre, but the other five Excalibur members found themselves congregating in the common room. None of them quite wanted to be alone right at the moment, Rahne decided, not if they were feeling anything like she was. Even Betsy and Neal had no quips today, no flirting barely disguised under the cover of bickering. Instead they were curled up on one of the couches, Neal with his head on Betsy's lap. If they were talking, it wasn't aloud.

Sean, however, was taking a more active approach to coping. His first move on entering the room had been to make a beeline straight for the cupboards, eventually emerging with a glass and a not quite full bottle of single malt. With all the slow deliberation of an Irishman who means nothing to get between him and his path to an alcoholic blur, he placed bottle and glass reverentially on the table, sat down, and poured himself a shot. A second's pause, a quick flick of an arm, and the glass was back on the table, empty. The sandy-haired Irishman grimaced briefly, then methodically poured himself a second shot.

When he put the bottle down this time, though, another hand snaked out and took it away. Rahne watched, trying very hard not to blink in surprise as Teresa carefully lifted the bottle up and tipped a generous measure into her own glass.

"What do y' think y're doin', cagaran?"

"What does it look like, Da?" Teresa replied with a challenging stare. "I'm having a drink."

"Not in my house, y' ain't." Sean went to grab at the glass holding the offending drink, but his daughter snatched it away from him, downing it in a single swallow. The Irishman glared, although Rahne thought she could smell just a hint of pride in his scent when Terry gave nothing more than a brief shudder at the harsh taste.

"Too slow," she told him, although her voice was possibly not as steady as she would have liked. "And it isn't your house. Anyway, you're doing it, so why shouldn't I?"

"Well for one thing, I'm old enough t' buy the stuff," Sean grumbled, but he made no further move to take the bottle away. "Auch, so I suppose I should just get used to this, naw? Maybe I should even be offering strong spirits to Rahne next?"

"Oh, that's okay, really," she said quickly, before Teresa had a chance to act on the defiant gleam that had come to her eyes. "I… might just go for a walk, or something."

……

Rahne's plan had been to head outside to her favourite spot on the island, where the cliffs faced east and the waves crashing onto the rocks sent little bursts of sea spray up into her face. It was the place she went to think, and today, that was all she felt up to. But instead, she found herself following a scent trail through the research centre, down the corridors past Teresa's room and into a part of the complex which she'd never ventured to before.

She'd tracked it without thinking, so when she came up to an open door and saw Moira sitting silently just inside what looked like a bedroom, she couldn't help but be surprised. Pausing at the door, Rahne tried very hard to keep as silent as possible, so as not to disturb whatever contemplation her foster mother was occupied in. Moira's eyes were dry, but the strain was showing in the tightness of her jaw and the tense wiry note rippling through her scent. Unsure of whether to interrupt the to ask Moira if she was okay, or simply keep on and head outside, leaving the scientist to the privacy of her own thoughts, Rahne peered round door to inspect the room.

It was unmistakeably someone's bedroom, although there were no scents apart from Moira's to suggest that it had been lived in. Not that there was any dust on the nondescript bed or desk, or the bookshelves with their rows of slightly faded but still colourful books, but the room was... devoid of life. Apart from them, the only sign of any personality was an old poster showing the Rangers side from twelve years ago, carefully pinned up so as not to damage any of the corners, and smoothed neatly across the wall. There was a large rip running through the centre of the poster, but the halves had been lovingly taped together, leaving only a small seam through the goal keeper's head.

Moira hadn't moved at all during this time, so Rahne turned to leave, but as she turned, the orange-haired woman finally spoke. "I did love him. Kevin, that is."

Rahne paused at the door, startled by the remark. She wasn't sure if Moira had even noticed she was here – maybe she was just addressing herself? Her tone had sounded more like that of someone trying to convince themselves of something they only half-believed than anything else. The scientist never turned around to look at her, but she spoke again, her voice flat and her scent a jumble of emotions, surging and changing to fast for Rahne to decipher properly. "Despite everything he did – and… everything I did. I know it doesn't seem it, but I did love him. I did."

Abruptly, the scientist rose and walked over to the poster, tracing the line of the carefully patched rip with her hand. The greenish tang of remorse grew stronger in her scent. "I was a rather poor mother, really - too busy with my own life, and I never realised until it was too late." She finally turned to look at Rahne, giving a rueful self-deprecating smile that looked out of place on her normally assured features. Moira was always so composed, so certain in herself. But not now, and that was somehow more disturbing than anything Carson could ever have said. "I suppose I thought that adopting you could help me make up for it. A second chance. It was selfish of me, really. I'm sorry, honey."

"Nay – nay, you don't have to be…" Rahne started quickly, the words spilling out before she even had time to think about what she meant. It felt… wrong, to see the scientist like this, and she wanted to reassure her, as backwards as that seemed. Moira had always been the one to reassure her, to tell her that everything was okay – Rahne wasn't sure that she could do anything to help in return. But nevertheless, she crossed the room and to the older woman, tentatively reaching up and putting her arms around her in a cautious hug. "You…" words failed. Rahne wanted to explain that she was grateful to her foster mother for everything that she'd done, but it was more than that, if she could only think of how to put the feelings into words. So she said nothing more, and just hoped that the hug would go some way to explaining that while she'd never replace her mother, be her mother, Moira was… her mother.

* * *

**_NB:_**_ For those of you who aren't familiar with the comics and who are wondering where the hell this talk about Moira's son came from…this is all in reference to Kevin MacTaggert, also known as Proteus, an extremely powerful mutant who possessed the ability to warp reality. His backstory in Ristyverse (the evoverse of my creation) isn't really that important for this story, but it's based on a combination of the 616 and Ultimate Proteus stories. More about that later, since it will be my next project if I can ever manage to finish this._

_But for now… in other notes…! I'm reliably informed by **the Uncanny R-Man (**thanks for the idea, by the way!) that Teresa's drinking problem was canon, and Sean has been known to partake himself… Kant was a famous German philosopher who believed (as an example) that it is wrong to lie, even to save an innocent from certain death. Joseph MacTaggert was obviously Moira's husband (another not very nice man)… and… I think that's about all…_

_Hope you enjoyed it!_

****


	31. Reminder

**_Iblis_******_ glad you liked the bit with Kevin. That section was an utter utter bitch to write, so it's good to hear that it had the desired effect! And yeah… sorry about the delay on this next chapter._

**_R-Man:_**_ I had fun with the Proteus references, so yay! He's always been one of my favourite bad guys. And Wisdom will be arriving soon! Like… next chapter, I think, all going to plan.._

**_Episodic:_**_ Two types of jade, eh? Very interesting. And no random fact is ever useless! I'm sure it will come in very handy one day… somehow…_

**_Ivan Alias:_**_ why thank you! I'm rather pleased with Carson myself, actually – I have a thing about the villain who's always one step ahead of you and smug about it. The Rev was a lot more of a straight forward, boring bad guy, although that might be just a reflection of my writing getting more complex (and hopefully better) as this fic goes on. Definitely more I could have done with him, but oh well. Trying to resist the urge to keep rewriting at the moment. And thank you again for the compliment on my writing style – I try to keep away from being over flowery whenever possible, so it's nice to know it's working!And your other review (thanks for the double, btw!), I love SFA! Especially the Radiator album. And I do have fun trying to work in some Scottish stuff in there, although once again it's making me want to rewrite, now that I've found out all this stuff about Ullapool… sighs Hooray for Scotland, anyway!_

**_Chaotic Boredom:_**_ go you, reading up on all the comics! 616 has something to do with parallel universes and Captain Britain, I think, though I'm shaky on the details there. And I just couldn't resist the nod to Teresa's drinking… man, I'm so easily amused._

**_Atomic midnight: _**_Thanks! Hopefully the excessive wait this time wasn't too terrible either. God, bad me! Bad!_

**_Hog of Hedges:_**_ thanks! I'm really glad you liked the end, since it was a bitch and a half to write (getting into middle-aged women's heads and all is not my thing, sadly). And I couldn't resist the chance to throw in the drunken Irish people. Not too sure about Sean and the police/Interpol thing – let's just say for the sake of my fic that Interpol are police too, shall we? whistles innocently_

_Yeah, so it might seem like I can only be bothered writing about once every three months, but I promise, it isn't like that, really! I'm just coming out of exams and things, and trying to get back into this story, so… please bear with me! It isn't forgotten…_

_Thanks to **hellion**__for reading over the first part of this before it got put up and saying nice things._

_Anyway, without further ado.___

* * *

In the course of the next week, Parliament passed their amendment to the Serious Crimes Act, allowing for the use of cures in the control of those mutants recognised as a danger to themselves and others by a court of law. Jonothan Starsmore was to be the first such mutant to be provided for by the terms of the Bill, apparently with his full consent. The members of Excalibur did not believe that for a second, of course.

Unfortunately, for all nearly all practical intents and purposes, their hands were tied, at least in most direct avenues. Brian and Meggan took up the public cause, arguing for mutant rights in whatever media channels they could find, and the blonde empath at least seemed to be on the way to becoming a favourite with reporters and the public alike. But even the advocacy of Captain Britain, the nation's sworn protector, did not seem to be enough to salvage support for those seeking to delay the Bill's enactment. The general tide of public feeling was still too pulled by the ever present stories of mutants causing death or destruction and the nightly images of the aftermath of the X-Men's battles with Apocalypse. A date was set for Jono's 'cure' - the 28th of August. Less than one month away.

As the day drew closer, the tension at the Research Centre heightened. Betsy and Sean were sent back to England, to try to retrieve the formula, or failing that, Jono himself, but both seemed to have disappeared into thin air, spirited away in anticipation of just such a tactic. Sean and Betsy immediately started work on tracking down the new locations. Moira joined them, abandoning her research completely for the moment. All three were insistent that Rahne and Teresa were not to know anything about what they were doing, a situation which the Irish girl, at least, protested vigorously.

Rahne wasn't sure how she felt about it – if she thought honestly, she had to admit that she had no idea how she could possible aid their search, but still… it was almost unbearable to have to sit there, unable to do anything to help, not even knowing what was being done. She trusted the adult members of Excalibur, of course – they were the leaders of her pack - and for her, the idea of directly going against their express instructions was nearly unthinkable. But nevertheless, it was… frustrating to be so removed from events.

Rahne's feelings were evidently only too apparent to the others, despite her attempts to put on a positive face, especially around Moira. She could smell the worry every time her foster mother looked at her, and Betsy's considering looks were almost as good as an indicator of their concern. Perhaps that was why they had both been so insistent that she should get away from Muir Island. Rahne hadn't been sure that she wanted to leave the familiarity of the Research Centre, and the security of her odd new 'family', especially when the only suggested destination that Moira and Betsy had come up with was Ullapool, but she had acquiesced, not wanting to cause any trouble with anyone.

And so she found herself back again in the place that had once been her home, walking along the edge of the town with Tony, and trying very hard not to wonder what was going on behind the granite walls and curtained windows that they passed.

"So, did ye see the Rangers/Celtics game in the weekend then?" her friend asked, dragging a hand through his hair in yet another unsuccessful attempt to keep it from falling into his eyes. By a careful, unspoken agreement, the two teenagers were deliberately keeping away from any topics that might lead to uncomfortable silences.

"Nay, I didn't," Rahne replied, ducking her head in a pretence of guilty confession. Tony's look of mock outrage had her giggling within seconds though, and she swatted at him lightly, trying to push him out off the footpath into the street.

Pushing back, Tony kept up his act, crying "Sacrilege!" and bringing out the most deadly weapon in the friendly armory. The tickle. Rahne squirmed away, scrambling a few steps further down the street and holding her arms out protectively in front of her…

"Cheater..."

"Oi! I resent that!" Hands on his hips, face screwed into a fairly credible pout, the shaggy haired boy was a picture of wounded innocence – if not for the amusement rippling through his scent, at least. Rahne shook her head at him, but she couldn't keep herself from grinning, all the same. For a moment there, she could almost believe that nothing had ever changed.

"So anyway," Tony began again a few minutes later as they continued on their walk. "The game, aye?" Barely pausing for Rahne's acknowledgement, he plunged on enthusiastically. "Ye should ha' seen it, Rahney, it was absolutely mad! Klos was having a rare shocker, ye ken, and we were down 2-0 with quarter of an hour ta go…" The recap was given with additional wild gestures provided, and she did her best to listen with proper attention. "But then Novo got his head on this brilliant cross from the left corner, and a couple of minutes later, Alex Rae set him up again…"

Tony kept talking, relating the minutiae of the dying minutes of the match, but Rahne found her attention wandering. Their path was taking them right past the church, and her attention was inescapably captured by the grey stone of the new addition to the churchyard. Her parents' monument. Forgetting her friend for a second, Rahne turned off the sidewalk, through the gate toward the granite block.

"…and blam! Three – two, and once again, Rangers are the undisputed champi… Rahne?" Tony's voice trailed off, and Rahne was vaguely aware of footsteps behind her, jogging to catch up. But she paid them little heed as she came to a stop in front of the monument, her eyes fixed upon the stark lines of words chiselled into the hard stone.

"Ummm… Rahne?" She looked around to see Tony beside her, face uncertain and scent uneasy. Their unspoken agreement to avoid mention of unpleasant things was all very well, but it was plain that her friend wasn't really sure what he was supposed to do now that the rules had been broken and the unpleasant things were staring them right in the face. He raised a hand slightly, as if to reach out to her, but dropped it again, biting at his lower lip – a sure sign with Tony that he didn't know what he was supposed to be doing.

Giving a brief, tight smile of acknowledgement, Rahne returned her gaze to the monument, and for the first time, she noticed that at the foot of the granite block, a collection of fading bunches of flowers and small candles was accumulating. "People leave wreaths here?" she asked. To her surprise, her voice came out calm and steady – nearly emotionless.

"Aye, they're… we're… all trying ta remember," Tony replied quickly, seemingly glad of something concrete to reply to. "Reverend Arrow, the new minister, says…" But Rahne didn't really care about whatever the most recent voice of the Lord in the village had to say about her parents. God hadn't cared about them when it mattered, had he? In any case, something else had caught her attention.

Down at her feet, almost obscured by the protruding left corner of the monument was a nondescript bunch of small white flowers, unremarkable for anything other than their uniformity and paleness amid the mixes of wildflowers and more exotic blooms. Or almost unremarkable. Kneeling quickly, Rahne bent over to pluck the white flowers from the pile, holding them to her face with a slight frown.

Her friend's confusion was plain. "Uh… what is it, Rahne?"

"These were her favourite," she replied, staring transfixed at the small, pale petals. "She…" As the thought sunk in, activating old memories, Rahne's frown grew, her eyes narrowing. "I have to go," she announced suddenly, pivoting on her heel and walking away from the memorial.

"Wha…? Where?" Tony pounded after her, the confusion growing again in his scent.

Rahne glanced down at the flowers, still gripped in her hand, before looking back at her friend. "I have to pay some respects," she replied flatly. She didn't want to explain right now, even if she could have found the words. "I'll see you later, Ton…"

And with that, she turned and walked away again, leaving him standing in the churchyard with no clue as to where she was going. It was probably better that way.

.....

Jess' house was one of nondescript row near the centre of the village, with nothing to distinguish it from any of its neighbours along the street. Nevertheless Rahne arrived at it unerringly, not even pausing to check the number above the front door. She knocked sharply, then waited, staring levelly at the wooden panelling.

Half a minute later, the door opened, revealing Jess and her little brother, standing on tiptoe to try and peer over his sister's shoulder. "Rahne?" the dark-haired girl asked, eyes widening in surprise. "What are ye…"

"Where is she?" Rahne demanded. Her friend blinked back, her confusion patent. It didn't matter though – Rahne's nose had already given her an answer. All consideration of politeness forgotten for the moment, she stepped through the door, brushing by the two residents and heading for the stairs without saying another word.

The scent that she had been following instinctively led her to what had been the spare guest room for as long as she could remember. Not spare any longer, however – now the room was in use, and its fair-haired occupant was there, sitting at the small desk by the corner.

Rahne crossed the room quickly, closing the distance between herself and the room's occupant in a few short, angry steps. She threw the bunch of flowers down in front of her, their stems now crushed from the tight grip, only just resisting the urge to slam her hand down onto the wood after them. "How dare you…" she snarled, too angry to form any thought more coherent from that from her outrage.

Claire turned to face her calmly, and a small flicker at the corner of her mouth was the only outwardly perceptible sign of the slight alarm that was palpable in her scent. She looked back at Rahne steadily for a moment, seeming to cement her composure, the swallowed a little nervously before speaking. "I'm sorry they're dead." Her voice was smaller than Rahne had remembered, somehow. She actually managed to sound remorseful too, a fact that pulled even more strongly at the wolf girl's anger. After everything that had happened, she thought she could be sorry? She thought she could remember them? Once again, Rahne found herself struggling with the urge to let her claws grow and teeth sharpen.

"How dare you," she asked again, more quietly this time, pointing to the flowers.

The blonde girl dropped her eyes to the desk briefly, then looked back up. "They… I kent they were yer mother's favourite," she said softly.

"I know."

The short, tight sentence made the blonde girl pause for a second, and she at least had the grace to look away momentarily. Guilt suddenly invaded her scent, and when she spoke again, her tone and gaze both held a rare note of pleading. "I couldna do anything – you kent about Dad. I canna… I canna go against him, Rah…"

Claire sounded so helpless that Rahne actually found some of her anger softening for a second, the tension leaching out of her shoulders. Until she remembered the memorial, at least, and the stark words in the churchyard. "I thought you were my friend." She tore out the words like an accusation, trying desperately to hold onto the anger which was in danger of slipping away now that she was face to face with the girl that she had known all of her life.

"I was… I am…" Claire began, floundering for words for possibly the first time in her life. "I just.. it all happened so suddenly, and I didna ken what they meant ta do." She paused for a second, and took a deep breath. "Ye had never given me any clue, and I didna ken what ta think, and then they began ta move, and…" Trailing off again, she looked up Rahne, her blue eyes full of remembered fear, and something that might have been remorse.

Rahne could feel her resolve wavering again, despite the determination to be angry, to hate the girl sitting in front of her. Claire was her friend, had been her best friend for as long as she could remember, and in spite of what had happened, the instinct to believe her excuses, however hollow, was still strong. But she managed one final attempt, clutching at the only thing that she could keep in her mind. "You could have done something."

"What… what could I have done?" The helpless shrug of her shoulders said it all, and even though the last vestiges of her anger flared at the lack of denial, Rahne couldn't help but know that her friend was completely and utterly, depressingly right. One person couldn't have made any difference, the outcome would… But what Claire said next brought the guttering embers of her anger blazing back into full, pure wrath. "I lost them too, Rah – they were like…"

"Nay. Don't say that," Rahne growled, feeling her nails bite into her palms as her hands curled themselves into fists at her side. She was calmer than she would ever have thought she could be, the anger having moved past rage into a cold, icy, diamond fury as she stared back into the pale blue eyes. "Don't ever say that. You've lost that right."

The urge to growl building in her throat, she leaned forward, bringing her face down to the blonde girl's, curling back the sides of her lips to reveal teeth that were already trying to lengthen in to fangs. Claire didn't flinch, didn't so much as move a muscle, and her gaze was steady, despite the small tightening of her throat. It was difficult not to be drawn to that, to the soft pulsing of the veins running down its sides and the urge to tear at them with tooth or claw. And perhaps Claire had perceived that – all signs of guilt and remorse and fear had been driven from her scent, replaced instead by a certain kind of resignation, and perhaps, acceptance.

Rahne stared for a second longer, struggling to bring her anger in check. And then, abruptly, it was gone again, leaving in its wake only a bare emptiness. She spun quickly, turning her back on the Reverend's daughter and stalking out the door again. Perhaps she could never really bring herself to hate Claire, not after fifteen years of friendship, but at least she could try to forget that the other girl existed.

* * *

**_NB: _**_All footballers mentioned in this are in fact real members of the team whose names I got off the official Glasgow Rangers FC site, which I am now a member of. Go Rangers…_

_And…we'll be back to regularly scheduled political intrigue programming with the next chapter, but I wanted to take a little look back at some of the personal stuff. So…that was Claire folks. I'd be interested to hear what you make of her, since I'm still not really sure myself. Hope you enjoyed anyway, and I shall get onto to the next one asap, with any luck. _


End file.
